The Beginnings of Us
by GeorgyannWayson
Summary: (Previously titled 'A Memoir of a Price Once Paid') Every family has a story in which they began. The Holmes family, of course, is no different. *Part two of an AU series* (COMPLETE)
1. Prologue: From the Author

**The Beginnings of Us  
**

"_The unexamined life is not worth living" - Socrates_

"You're writing a book about our family." Mycroft Holmes looked positively unmoved at his father's announcement.

"Yes," Mr. Holmes replied cheerfully from his position at his desk in front of the laptop where he was furiously typing away. "Well...it's more of a book about my life, but I suppose you can say it's about all of you, too; after all, you all are a big part of my life." The apples of his cheeks glowed with an affectionate smile.

"How intriguing." Mycroft took a lazy sip of his tea and Sherlock scoffed from his chair by the fireplace where he was lounging back; in other words: 'how utterly boring'. Mr. Holmes chose to ignore what he assumed was an undercurrent of an insult, and went back to his task. Using a laptop wasn't the same as using pen and paper like he was taught, but it was certainly faster and easier than writing everything out by hand.

And Mr. Holmes had a lot to say about his life. Placing his fingers on the keyboard, he felt the wave of words begin to flow through his fingers:

_To you, the reader:_

_I have to admit, as I write this, I have yet to understand how my life could have enough significance and purpose to be put into a book. My accomplishments, I suppose, have led me here, but to say that my life should be penned and sent into the masses of other autobiographies on the shelf is a far stretch. My publisher and editor stressed to me that I needed to write out my story, not only for others to read, but for myself as well. I can tell just by writing this introduction that this process will not be easy, but bear with me; I promise to tell only the stories that are important and that will leave an impression on your memory, as they have on mine._

_I'm afraid that I must inform you, dear reader, that I am no one special. I grew up with a single mother, the youngest of five sons in the countryside of England. I went to university and studied English, and by chance, I met someone special and we got married. Along with editing papers that could make theoretical physics look like baking cakes, I became a father and lived life in the editing world before taking a chance and submitting my own series of crime novels, achieving massive amounts of success even in old age. And now, here I am, at the decline of my natural life, sitting down and writing a memoir._

_In essence, we could say my life is somewhat normal. However...it's not._

_I am not just "the youngest" of the family. I am a Holmes in every sense of the word and title. Though we are each different, my brothers and I carry the essence of the family name and spirit within us, whether alive or dead, and through trials and struggles, we have made our mark on history individually, yet together._

_I didn't just met someone special and get married during university. If anything, I would call meeting my wife, Linda, a divine arrangement by something outside of ourselves. After over 50 years of marriage, I can honestly tell you that I don't deserve one ounce of her love, devotion and commitment to me. She is my rock, my shelter, my greatest strength, my greatest weakness, my best friend, the mother of my children and the woman of my dreams. I couldn't have asked for a greater blessing than to stand by her side._

_I didn't just have a career as an editor and author. Not only did I help to give birth to some great works of literature by others, but my own stories and characters are a part of me, of my world. I told their stories with vigor, with life and feeling, as if they sat down across from me and relayed every word to me themselves. Telling their stories, whether happy or sad, dark or light, gave me more of an appreciation for my own life. The pages of their tales have an end, but their influence knows no limits._

_And I didn't just become a father . Taking on the name of "Daddy" was literally the most frightening, exciting and heartbreaking experience I have ever inherited, but I was glad for the addition to my ever-growing list of credentials. Because as I watched my boys, Mycroft and Sherlock, grow up and make their choices (good and bad), only then did I even begin to comprehend how a father could love his children so much. I will even go far as to say I didn't really know what love was until I held each of them in my arms for the first time. My sons have taught me more about who I am than anyone else in my life._

_Within this book, you will find stories of all different kinds; stories of new beginnings, love, passion, loss, tragedy, and even betrayal; but most of all, you'll find stories of a family seemingly normal, yet absolutely unique. A result, if you will, of a price I willingly paid many years ago in order to live the life that I'm about to retell._

_Hopefully, this memoir will show you that the rewards of my sacrifice greatly outweighed the cost._

_Christopher William Holmes_

"Mikey, is this your laptop?" Mrs. Holmes's question broke through the silence of the room and Mr. Holmes turned to see the tea tray sitting on the black laptop that belonged to Mycroft. With a very deep sigh, probably to hold himself back from saying something extremely rude, her son smiled at her coldly.

"I suggest you get an eye exam soon, Mother; your eyesight is certainly failing you in your...age." Used to dealing with his snarky remarks, Mrs. Holmes rolled her eyes.

"You've always been so horrible at leaving your things lying around." As she and Mycroft began to argue, Sherlock excused himself and disappeared through the front door (probably to smoke, Mr. Holmes thought to himself warily. At least it was better than the alternative...). Turning back to the laptop, he began to type up the contents of what he knew would be his last published work...


	2. Brave New World

**Brave New World**: _Before I can tell the story about my family, I must first take a moment and introduce you to the world of the Holmes…well, my branch of it, at least. It starts with Linda and me leaving home, and entering true adulthood…_

* * *

Linda used to love rainy days.

For her, they used to be a familiar comfort. They were times where she could just curl with a book, catch up on lost sleep or even daydream without a care in the world as the soft pitter patter of the world's tears fell on the rooftop.

Yes, rainy days used to be wonderful.

That is, until she married Chris.

She looked out the window of the small summerhouse they lived in and sighed as the skies got darker with each passing minute. How rain could make someone's personality do a complete 180 was beyond her comprehension, but for Chris, it was completely true. Normally, he was fine to be around. He was easy-going, funny and charming, though he suffered the occasional Freudian slip coupled with a sarcastic and ornery streak, but everyone had accepted that it was just who he was. When he wasn't trying to get under people's skin, he was an unbelievably romantic and loving husband, likened to a huge teddy bear that never got enough love.

Out of all the decisions that Linda had made in her life, she never once regretted walking down that church aisle and pledging her life and love to him.

But three years of marriage had quickly taught her to be prepared for the worst (and sometimes the craziest) situations when the rain started to fall. Thankfully, it had been quiet so far. Chris had been holed up in the back bedroom almost all day, citing that he was knee deep in preparing his resume. It seemed like time had passed so quickly; one day, they were just starting university, and the next day, they were graduating, Chris immediately on the job hunt and Linda ready to attend Cambridge's prestigious graduate mathematics program on a full ride scholarship. So maybe, just maybe, in the piles of work, he wasn't fully aware that it was raining.

At least, she hoped so.

Snuggling into the soft couch with a warm blanket around her, she felt her body slipping into slumber and closed her eyes…

_BANG!_

She jumped up and rolled off the couch, painfully hitting the wood floor in complete shock, confusion and panic. That noise...what was it? Getting up to her knees slowly, she listened for any sign of movement. But all she heard was the rain.

_BANG!_

She scrambled to her feet, tore down the hall to the back bedroom and slammed the door open. To her surprise, Chris was lazily laying on the bed, looking absolutely and utterly bored with a gun in his hand pointed up toward the ceiling. Linda swallowed and looked up, her heart sinking as she saw the two small bullet holes that were dropping debris all over him, the bed and the endless amounts of paper scattered all around.

"Oh. My. God," she labored on each word, gripping the door frame.

"You know, I really hate rainy days," Chris said drolly, apparently not the slightest bit moved by her reaction. "They're just..." He fired the gun again, making her jump and wince as the shot made her ears ring. "Unnecessary."

Boy, was she tempted with everything in her to yell at him. But at the same time, knowing his mood, it wasn't going to do a thing to make him feel any remorse. Taking the advice of her best friend, Fran, she took a very deep breath to try and calm herself down.

"Where did you get a gun?" she finally asked after she felt like she could hear again and talk without raising her voice.

"We've had it, I've just been hiding it." He held out the gun to her. Slowly, she walked up and took it from his hand.

"Can I ask you why you felt the need to shoot the ceiling?"

"You could, but I can't give you the answer you're looking for."

_Here we go again,_ she thought to herself with an internal eye roll.

"I'm willing to accept everything but 'I meant to do that'," she offered graciously.

"So everything except the truth." He smiled sweetly and she rubbed her temple with her free hand, trying to hold back the extremely strong urge to strangle him.

"Sometimes, I wish I could just understand a little bit of what goes on in your mind."

"You wouldn't be able to even if you tried. When it rains, it's like a dark shadow is cast upon me, a mystical enchantment that invades the inner crevices of my conscious-" he trailed off with a glance to Linda, whose eyes were wide at his very vague and quite frankly, odd explanation. For a minute, he was pretty sure that she was going to start yelling at him, but instead, she set the gun down carefully on the bedside table and sighed tiredly.

"Ruth is going to kill you." Ruth Holmes, Chris's loud and overbearing mother, was very strict when it came to dealing with her youngest son and his antics. And after being around him constantly, Linda could very easily see why.

"I've done worse." He waved his hand limply and rolled his eyes, looking back up toward his work on the ceiling. "Should've seen what I did to her china cabinet when I was thirteen."

"Remind me to never buy china for our house."

"I don't really like it anyway," he said with a shrug.

"That was sarcasm, in case you couldn't tell."

"Oh, sorry. Obviously I missed it."

She threw up her hands in exasperation and defeat and turned around to leave the room, but stopped at the door. Even though her annoyance with him was at an all-time high, somehow she knew that there was more to his actions than just firing a gun for the hell of it. Her mind argued that it was normal for Chris to do completely stupid things like that; however, it wasn't normal for him to be so quiet afterwards. He was an arrogant git that took pride in confounding and scaring the hell out of someone to prove a point and made sure to crow about it until people begged him to stop.

Slowly, she turned around to face him.

"What's bothering you?"

He looked at her. "Nothing."

"No." She narrowed her blue eyes. "No, there's something on your mind."

He shrugged. "It's nothing."

"Oh, really? I beg to differ. Because I can handle you rearranging all of the pots and pans in the kitchen, composing horrid tunes with that blasted harmonica, giving a poetry reading to the skull and whatever other ridiculous thing you've done when its rained, but you shot the bloody ceiling this time." She pointed up to prove her point. "Something is on your mind."

He looked up to the three bullet holes. "Well, I have to admit, this is the most intense it's gotten," he murmured before sighing. "I'm just...a little worried."

"About what?"

"Leaving home." Her expression softened at his very deep frown. "I guess I'm having a hard time actually absorbing the fact that we're about to move away from the only home I've ever known." She knew that it was extremely hard for him to admit that aloud. Chris treated his mother and three brothers like they were the ultimate thorn in his side, but when it came to actually getting up and leaving them behind to start his life for real, he was understandably anxious.

She left the doorway, sat by him and took his hand.

"You know, I was really scared when I first came to live with you all."

"I could see why. Those people can give you nightmares if you let them."

She rolled her eyes at his very dramatic description of the family. "When Father left me here to go back home, I basically entered a new area of life, a brave new world if you will. You've had it easy, you know. Your family has always been there."

"In the shadows, lurking and taking notes to use against you later."

"But you're not alone." She drew him back to the conversation by bringing his hand up to nuzzle it against her cheek tenderly. "You have me. We're in this together."

His hand cupped her cheek and he stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. No matter how much he tried to reason and puzzle, Chris never understood how he ended up with such a gorgeous, loving and long-suffering woman as his wife. He pulled her in for a kiss, and felt up her back to cup her head, relishing in the deep moan that he wrought from her lips. He felt the slow fire in his belly burn to a blaze as he was pushed back on the bed.

"Don't take this as me forgiving you," Linda said as she climbed onto top of him to straddle him and unbutton his shirt. "I'm still pissed off at you about the ceiling."

"This isn't even your house," he pointed out as he helped her remove her shirt and tossed it far away. "What does it matter to you?"

"Hm, you're right," she said with a shrug and a giggle as he playfully growled and pulled her down to him, the issue of the bullet holes quickly leaving their minds as they found themselves lost in passionate love…

* * *

"I can't believe that my babies are leaving home."

Ruth dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief as Aaron, Elijah and Henry, Chris's older brothers, helped him to load bags into the little car. She reached out and pulled Linda close to her, sniffling. "My first daughter..."

"But not the last."

The two women standing next to them beamed at the words. Linda was pretty sure that her and Chris getting married was what spurred the other brothers to start looking for wives, but everyone was happy to welcome Helen through Aaron to the Holmes clan and that coming October, Ginger through Henry. Eljiah, much to Ruth's dismay and Linda's suprise, had yet to even try to date due to his constant traveling for his work as an archeologist.

"All right, all done," Aaron said as he wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Got some heavy bags there, Linda." He winked at her and she sneered playfully.

"I'm pretty sure those were actually Chris's," Henry teased, ruffling the mention's hair playfully.

"Oh, hardy har har," Chris muttered with a scowl, fixing his hair as best as he could.

"Oh, don't be like that," Elijah said with a small grin. "We got to get some last minute teasing in before we get deprived of your joyful countenance."

Ruth made a noise of utter despair and pulled Linda into a tight hug. "Oh, I'll miss you both so much!" She wailed through a sob.

"Mum, they'll be back for the wedding," Henry said gently in an attempt to soothe her.

"But that's months away!"

"It's okay, Ruth." Ginger shot Chris a look. "They promise to be back here a couple of days early."

"Of course we will, Mum," he agreed slowly, not wanting to be one to upset the only fiery red head of the family. "We'll come back extra early just for you."

Linda stumbled back as she was suddenly released, just barely being caught from falling back by Helen. Ruth grabbed Chris up in a bone-crushing hug and he unsuccessfully held back a grimace as her lips sloppily kissed his cheek.

"You'll always be my baby."

"I know, Mum." His face turned red at his brothers' snorts of laughter. Ginger tapped her foot and loudly coughed to draw their attention and upon seeing her glare, they all immediately quieted down.

"Can you forgive me?" Ruth tearfully asked.

"For what?"

"For all of the times that I've wanted to kill you over the years."

"Well, I suppose I did deserve a lot of the threats," Chris reasoned with a look to his brothers, who nodded in agreement. "There was the china cabinet."

"And the time you set the rug on fire," Aaron said.

"And the time you flooded the house,," Henry finished thoughtfully, nodding to Elijah who shrugged in agreement.

"You were a raging hellstorm of a child," Ruth said as she released him. "But I wouldn't have traded you for the world. You've grown up into a very fine young man." She pet his cheek tenderly. "And thankfully, you're not doing reckless things anymore."

Linda snorted loudly, drawing everyone's attention and cleared her throat. "Sorry, allergies."

Chris rolled his eyes at her very innocent smile.

"Linda, do us proud and kick some arse at Cambridge." Henry grabbed her up in a sweeping hug, his whiskers tickling her face as he kissed her cheek roughly. As soon as she left Henry's arms, she was in Aaron's, and thankfully, his hug was much more gentle.

"You're going to do great."

She smiled at his extremely encouraging and positive tone. He released her and Elijah took his turn also making sure to hug her lightly and kissing her forehead gently. Each of the brothers turned to face Chris, expressions of sadness, pride and joy on their faces.

"Well, it's been a-"

The sentence was cut off as they all piled around him, groans and grunts of absolute affection filling the air. "Okay...yes, this is very nice..." Linda pursed her lips to hide her grin at Chris's extremely aggravated, yet somewhat touched tone. He might've sounded like he was taking their love well, but his fuse with tolerating them was short, and burning up quickly.

"Mhm, yes, yes, I...love you all, I suppose..."

Three...

"We really must be going now, long drive and all."

Two... "All right, you've made your point. You'll miss me, and I guess I'll miss you all too."

One... "Seriously, let me go now."

Zero.

"GET OFF OF ME." By some miracle, he managed to get out from the middle of them by ducking and dodging out. Before, he could get away, however, he was grabbed by Henry's massive hand.

"You know, I don't think he's had enough."

"Linda!" Chris whined as he was roughly dragged back into the middle of them. Helen, Ginger and Ruth all giggled madly as Linda stepped forward to intervene.

"All right, boys, let him go. We really do need to get going."

Mercifully, they backed away, hiding huge grins at Chris's pissed off scowl. With some last minutes hugs and kisses to their sisters-in-laws, they climbed into the car and Linda looked in the mirror as everyone stood in a group to watch them leave.

"They'll really miss you."

"They just did that to irritate me." The car started.

"But they did it with love." Thankfully, she didn't miss his very, very slight smile. With one last glance in the rear view mirror to the waving family, he reached out and took her hand, intertwining their fingers as they drove off and up the dirt road away from the house...

* * *

_And so began our lives as a married couple outside the shadow of my family. Linda went to Cambridge and indeed "kicked some arse" as Henry so eloquently put it. She graduated at the top of the class and was immediately offered a job in the mathematics department as a professor. I settled down with a small publishing company and became a technical manual editor; my days full of reading mind-numbingly boring material and trying to make sense of it. We lived our lives in marital bliss for another two years, and then decided that it was time to start a family…_


	3. Daddy Holmes Club: Chapter One

**The Daddy Holmes Club**: _According to my mother, five years was much too long of a wait to even begin to start having children, but everyone was happy all the same when Linda announced that she was pregnant. My perception of my life up to that point had been very linear and straight-forward, but with the curve of Parenthood fast approaching, I really struggled with a sense of who I was...  
_

* * *

_**Chapter One**_

"Linda, this pregnancy glow is doing wonders for your complexion."

Linda, Fran, and another friend from university, Melody, all sat in the living room of the cozy little house and sipped on tea.

"I mean, really," Melody continued to gush. "You look amazing."

"She's right, you know, Lin," Fran confirmed with a nod. "You make the rest of us look like trolls...though Melody's uglier."

A sputter came from behind Melody's tea cup, but she choose to keep quiet, which was the best response to any of Fran's jabs.

"You think so?" Linda asked as she rubbed her pregnant stomach. "I walk like a penguin, though."

"A blonde penguin. Thought I'd never see that." Fran guffawed at her own joke and poured more tea into her cup. "So, when are you due?"

"The sixteenth." A big, red O circled around the sixteenth of November on the calendar in the kitchen. "Though I might be a little early or late."

"Two weeks away...that's exciting!" Melody clapped her hands together. "Do you know what you're having?"

"No, we decided to make it a surprise, much to the chagrin of Nana Holmes, which is why the nursery is full of both pink and blue things," she finished with a chuckle.

"Do you have names picked out?"

"If it's a girl, her name will be Guinevere, after my grandmother. If it's a boy, it'll be Robert, after Chris's favorite poet."

"Oh isn't that just sweet?!"

Fran winced at Melody's extremely high pitched squeal.

"For God's sake, Mel, shut up before you break all the windows. How Michael puts up with you, I'll never know..."

"Okay, Chris, calm down now," Linda said drolly, and Fran snapped her head around to pin her with a very harsh glare.

"I KNOW you didn't just compare me to that mad man."

Chris's oh so loving nickname from university days had finally made a reappearance.

"Actually, Fran, you and Chris are actually a lot alike." Melody apparently didn't notice the noise of warning as Fran's eyes narrowed to slits and continued to talk, pointing to emphasize her thoughts. "You're both really mouthy, and sarcastic, and not to mention, you're both really moody-"

"Lovely weather, isn't it?" Linda quickly said as her fiery red-headed friend moved with a finger raised and her mouth wide open, ready to give over a piece of her mind. "Hope the baby isn't born when it's very cold."

Ever so slowly, at the glance her way, Fran closed her mouth and lowered her finger, sitting back to sulk and listen as Melody happily commented about the weather outside, completely oblivious to what she was spared from...

* * *

"The Daddy Holmes Club."

"We thought it up while waiting for Emily to be born." Henry gently rocked the tiny squirming baby in his trunk-like arms, the tiny dot of pink kicking against his massive chest. "We should get t-shirts and everything."

"That's a nice idea, I guess, but there will only be four members," Chris pointed out, smiling as the little girl cooed happily.

"Three," Elijah said lazily from behind a map of what looked like to be Africa, already planning his next excavation.

"Eli, don't say that." Aaron grunted as Chase, his three-year-old son, hopped up on his lap with a book. "Just because things didn't work out with Julia-"

"Michael can take my spot," Elijah snapped, obviously not up to talking about his divorce from his wife of only eight months. "I'm sure he would be thrilled to be a part of your little club, anyway."

Michael was Chris's best friend from childhood, and the means by which he and Linda met. If anything, Michael would be thrilled to have such a sacred honor.

"I'll run it by him," Chris said, shaking his head at Aaron, who had opened his mouth to reply, but quietly backed down.

"It seems like only yesterday, we were kids ourselves, and now here we are with our own." Henry kissed Emily's forehead with so much tenderness, that Chris felt like he was on an alien planet. Although everyone was a little bit skeptical of her at first, Ginger's influence had really changed Henry for the better. Before her, he was an insufferable brute with a tendency to curse like a sailor, bully his brothers and drink himself into a stupor. And now with Emily's birth, Henry seemed to gain a greater sense of purpose.

Chris turned to watch Aaron softly read Green Eggs and Ham to Chase, who looked completely engrossed in the story. Though Aaron was always the gentle peacekeeper of the family, getting married and becoming a dad had also changed him, especially with his confidence in dealing with the world. With Helen and Chase by his side, he could take on anything.

"I better get back to the house." Chris stood up and said his goodbyes to everyone, making sure to give extra special attention to little Emily and drove back to the little charming red house in the suburbs where he and Linda lived. She was already asleep when he got home, and he undressed and climbed under the covers, taking his usual spot behind her to absent-mindlessly pet her stomach.

In the silence of the dark bedroom, as the baby occasionally kicked at his hand, his nervousness and uncertainty was really starting to gnaw at his consciousness. Although the brothers had grown up without their father, George, around, there was a father figure in the oldest Holmes brother of the group, Rudy and he did his best to prepare all of them for the real world, the issue of fatherhood never really coming up, though, as he was just a kid himself essentially. Although Henry and Aaron were obviously adjusting to fatherhood easily, Chris still found himself feeling abhorrently under prepared for the title 'Daddy'. How was he supposed to handle the pressure of knowing he was about to take on a role that he had no clue on how to function in?

He hugged Linda close, smiling as she cooed softly and snuggled close to his chest. Next to her and her absolute confidence in her impending motherhood, it was very obvious just how weak he really felt. With a sigh, he tried to clear his mind of the conflicting and jumbling thoughts and get some sleep. The baby wasn't due for another two weeks; there was at least some time to try and overcome his insecurities...

* * *

A dull pain woke her up from a dead sleep.

Linda slowly opened her eyes and rubbed her stomach as another ripple of pain went through her lower back and hips. She took a deep breath and breathed out as the pain subsided; it was probably just another Braxton-Hicks contraction. The hospital had sent her home twice because of them, and she wasn't about to go back in and be sent home yet again.

Sitting up, she grunted with effort to get out of bed and waddled to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. As she turned on the pipe to wash her face, a gush of water whooshed from between her legs and she looked down to see a puddle quickly growing by her feet. She looked up in surprise at her tired reflection.

"Chris!" she called, opening the door to see him still sleeping with his back to her, snoring softly. Waddling over to the bed, she nudged him. "Chris."

He snuggled deeper into the pillow, smacking his lips and sighing.

"Chris, for God's sake, wake up!" Damn him and his ability to sleep through everything. In desperation, impatience, pain and lack of sleep, she did the only thing she could think to do to wake him up.

"What the-" he snorted with a yell as he saw stars, his head throbbing painfully from where Linda's fist had punched him.

"The baby's coming."

Her labored announcement made him turn around and face her, blinking through the dull ache in his head.

"Now?" he asked dumbly.

"Yes, now!" She groaned from the strength of a particularly strong contraction.

"Um, all right." Chris turned on the lamp and got up, pausing to watch her breathe in and out slowly to alleviate some of the pain. "Are you all right?" he asked slowly.

"Chris, I'm having a baby," she said drolly. "Does it look like I'm all right to you?"

"Right, right, sorry." He shook his head, taking her hand to help her to sit down on the bed. "You know me and my stupid questions." He quickly put on some clothes while she held her stomach, occasionally breathing loudly and hissing as she tried to steel herself against the waves that went from her back and around her stomach. "Here's some clothes for you."

A skirt and a sweater were laid next to her.

"I'll go get the bag in the car." He kissed her forehead quickly and left. As Linda dressed with the occasional pause, she felt so proud of her husband. He was really growing up; usually, in high stress situations, his emotions quickly got the best of him, but it seemed that along with age came maturity. She made a mental note to give him praise whenever it was all over and the baby was safe and in their arms.

When she went downstairs, however, she was shocked to see Chris pacing madly in the living room, his hand to his mouth in what she could only assume was very intense thought.

"I thought you were going to start the car."

"I can't do this."

She blinked. "Can't do what?"

"This!" He motioned to her, his eyes fixed on her stomach.

"Wha...I think it's a bit late to be making this call, Chris."

"I'm not ready."

She felt herself getting dizzy at his wild pace and her muscles tensed as another contraction went through her, a bead of sweat running down the side of her face. "Chris, please, we can talk about this on the way to the hospital."

He stopped and stared at her. "How can you be so ready for this, Linda?" His face was ghost white in the soft lamplight of the living room. "I'm over here basically ready to jump off a cliff, and you're acting as though you're not even the slightest bit fazed!"

Her body screamed at her to do something, but in the haze of pain, she could see there was more to what he was saying. Instantly, as a shadow of the past filtered across his eyes, she knew. With every morsel of strength she could find within her, she waddled to him and cupped his face to bring his eyes back up to meet hers.

"Chris, listen to me. You are going to be a wonderful father; you're going to love, take care of and treasure this child."

He stared at her, his fear slightly backing off, but not by much.

"I know you're scared, but guess what? I'm a new parent, too. I don't have a clue what I'm doing. I've had my doubts, just like you. But when I feel as though I'm about to lose my mind from all of the voices telling me I'm going to fail as a mother, I look at you. And I know that with you by my side, everything is going to be okay."

His lip twitched into a smile and as much as she wanted to extend the tender moment, her face twisted into a grimace as an extremely powerful contraction racked her entire body. He reached out and held her stay on her feet.

"Come on, we better get to the hospital." Tenderly, he kissed her forehead and helped her the door.


	4. Daddy Holmes Club: Chapter Two

**The Daddy Holmes Club**

_**Chapter Two**_

"What do you mean that I'm not allowed in the room?"

"It's hospital policy," the elderly lady that was registering people coldly explained to Chris after Linda was whisked away in a wheelchair to God only knew where, and he was told that he wasn't allowed to follow her. "There's a waiting room for expectant fathers over there." She pointed to a small, cozy room tucked away from the main waiting room.

"For God's sake, I was there when this baby was made, I should be there for when it's born!" Eyes widened all around the waiting room at both his statement and his tone, the volume of his voice increasing with each word. She gave him a droll stare over her spectacles.

"Mr. Holmes, if you shout one more time, I'll have to have you removed."

His eyes narrowed; if she wanted to really hear him start, she just had to keep provoking him.

"Only women are allowed in the birthing rooms, and that's that." She got to her feet and walked away before he could say anything else and with a look around to the surprised patrons, he stormed into the cozy waiting room, flopping down in a chair and fuming. He tried to get himself to calm down by using the phone to call different family members, and everyone promised to come the next morning and see them, but Ruth insisted that she come right away and hung up before Chris could protest.

He paced nervously around the room, unable to stop worrying though he tried furiously to stop his racing mind. In desperation for something to do, he shut the door, sat back down and picked up the receiver of the phone to dial a number that he swore he would never use unless there was a true crisis. But being on the verge of a meltdown was, in Chris's mind at least, a crisis. He just needed to hear someone, anyone's voice.

"Hello?" A groggy voice answered on the other side.

"Hello, Rudy," Chris said, trying to sound somewhat cheerful.

"Chris." Rudy's voice got alert with surprise, and then with anxiety. "It's one in the morning, is everything all right?"

"Don't worry, no one's hurt...well actually that's not exactly true. Linda's in labor."

"Oh, really? I didn't realize nine months had passed so quickly," he muttered, and Chris's brows furrow in confusion. Rudy, technically, wasn't even supposed to know that Linda was pregnant as no one had called to tell him. "How are you feeling?" he asked louder, obviously trying to cover his slip of the tongue.

"Tired, excited, terrified, like I'm going to be sick...need I go on?"

"In other words, you're getting this fatherhood thing down just fine," Rudy said with an affectionate chuckle.

"I hardly think so."

"Well, be comforted in that you're among thousands of men that feel or have felt the same way. Millions, even."

A pause passed as Chris tried to think of something to say. He wasn't used to talking to his older brother, especially about something personal such as feelings. He kicked himself internally for even calling and bothering him.

"You're ready for this, you know, Chris." Even over the phone, when they couldn't see each other, Rudy could still read him like an open book.

"Did you ever feel like we were too much for you to handle as we were growing up?" Chris asked after a few seconds of absorbing those words.

"All the time," Rudy replied with a sigh. "It wasn't easy picking up the slack after Dad left, but it was worth every second of seeing my little brothers happy and cared for."

Chris smiled at his older brother's extremely tender tone. "If you love us all so much, then why aren't you around more?"

"That's something I don't really think we should talk about right now."

But Chris partially knew why. Ruth and Rudy barely got along when in the same room with one another, which he supposed was somewhat normal as their mother could be a real pain in the bum, but there was something between them that was particularly hostile. As much as the other brothers tried to reason and puzzle why that was, both of them had kept their reasons very tight-lipped. Maybe someday, it would all come to light...

"I keep tabs on you all, you know."

Chris blinked at Rudy's confession.

"I have a lot of people that help me keep an eye on the family, so trust me when I say I'm never out of the loop of what's going on." So that explained how he knew about Linda.

"You know that you can just call us, right? It's a more traditional and frankly, more normal way to check in."

"That would be so out of character for me; we both know I'm the definition of nontraditional." As a full-time cross dresser, yes, Rudy was correct in that statement. Chris opened his mouth to say something, but a shrill call of his name made him groan in both exasperation and embarrassment.

"Ah, the call of the wild. I'll talk to you later."

The line clicked, and he set down the phone, wincing at another high pitched squawk of his name.

"For God's sake, Mum!" he bellowed as he ripped the door open, drawing everyone's attention and even making some people almost jump clean through the ceiling.

"Oh, there you are!" Ruth bustled over and pulled him into a tight hug, ignoring his slight struggle to get out of her grip. "You look like hell," she grumbled, brushing his hair down and making him bristle.

"I did wake up from a punch in the head from Linda to come to the hospital at one in the morning," he said, brushing his shirt off.

"So she's already in the delivery room?"

"Just went it. Can you believe that they won't let me in there with her? I'm only the father," he said in the direction of the front desk, where the elderly lady gave him a most evil eye.

"I don't blame them; it's not decent for a man to see his wife giving birth."

He balked. "Are you seriously-"

"I'll go in and watch after her. You need to calm down in the meantime." He rolled his eyes at her scold and watched as a nurse led her through the double doors. With one last look to the woman behind the desk, who was making sure that he stayed quiet, Chris went back into the small room and sat back in a chair, mindlessly flipping through a magazine as his eyes drifted shut...

* * *

"Christopher."

A gentle nudge made him practically jump out of his skin and he looked around wildly before seeing that it was just Ruth, wearing a yellow gown and beaming with tears in her eyes. "You have a son," she said tearfully.

A son. He blinked in amazement at her words, his mouth paralyzed.

"Come and see him, he's in the nursery."

Slowly, he stood up and followed her down the quiet hall to stand in front of a wide piece of glass where, inside the room, there were nurses tending to wailing babies that were in different bassinets all around. One baby, however, was looking curiously around as best as he could, no sign of tears in his dark blue eyes. Ruth tapped the glass, and the baby looked toward them, blinking furiously as he tried to focus on the faces watching him.

Suddenly, it seemed that every fear that Chris had ever had about becoming a father paled in comparison to the furious and consuming love he felt toward the tiny little human that was curiously watching him. The baby briefly smiled, as if he knew who was looking at, and started to squirm.

"Isn't he precious?" Ruth dabbed at her eyes with the gown and sniffled. As much as Chris wanted to finds the words to describe what was going through his mind, he couldn't. All he could do was stare at the tiny features of the baby's face: Linda's eyes, his nose, her smile...

"Mr. Holmes?" A voice broke his train of thought and as much as he wanted to keep studying his son, he looked to the nurse that came up to them. "Your wife is ready for visitors now in room three. We'll bring little Robert in awhile."

He nodded and looked to the little baby one last time before walking down the hall.

* * *

Linda was exhausted. Having a baby, she quickly learned, wasn't an easy task at all, but it was worth every second of pain and discomfort to hear that first cry of the healthy baby boy that she had given life to. Her body cried out for food and rest, and she subcumbed to the most pressing need first, dozing off on the piled pillows beneath her head. The door opened, but she didn't move until she felt lips brush against her forehead. She opened her eyes to see Chris's face right above hers.

"Hi," she whispered tiredly with a smile. He stroked some strands of her wild curls away from her forehead. "Have you seen him?"

"He's perfect."

Linda's heart melted at his confirmation of exactly what she was feeling.

"He looks like he'll take after the genius side of the family," he said as he took her hand.

"Father will be estastic to hear that."

They both chuckled at how true those words were. Ulysses, Linda's father, would most likely want Robert to attend only the best schools and universities as he had wanted with his only daughter. Though he was a Holmes first, Robert was also a part of the Gregory clan and was bound to be heavily spoiled by his grandparents.

"Did you call the rest of the family?" she asked.

"They're all coming first thing tomorrow."

"Thank goodness. I look like a right mess."

Chris chuckled and leaned to kiss her tenderly. "You look like a beautiful new mother." Their romantic moment was broken at a knock on the door.

"Hello!" the nurse called as she wheeled in with the bassinet. "Little Robert is getting hungry." She picked the bundle of blankets that were fussing rather loudly and passed it to Linda, who stared in wonder at the little face with tear-filled eyes.

"Hello, darling." She gently touched his chin before fixing herself to feed him, Chris taking a spot in the chair by the bed to give them some space. As soon as Robert was done and settled comfortably, Chris came back to sit by them, putting his arm around Linda so she could lean against him and together, they watched the baby fall asleep.

"I never thought I could be so happy." Linda gently stroked the fat little arm that laid on top of the blankets. "I have a job that I love, a wonderful husband-"

Chris's lips brushed against her hair.

"And a beautiful baby boy." She sniffled and laid her head against her husband's chest, sighing in absolute contentment. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," he softly replied as he felt Linda relax and also fall asleep after a few minutes. Chris gently moved them to lay back comfortably and as he let himself also drift into slumber, there was a thought, just one thought, that constantly pestered him and wouldn't leave him alone...

Robert just wasn't the right name.


	5. Daddy Holmes Club: Chapter Three

**The Daddy Holmes Club**

_**Chapter Three**_

"Oh, my God, he's so CUTE!"

The hospital room the next morning was busy with the presence of every person in the immediate Holmes clan, also including Fran, Melody and Michael joining in the celebrations. The squeal of happiness came from Melody, who was taking her turn with holding the squirming little bundle of joy.

"He looks like you, Linda," Michael said.

"I think he looks more like Chris," she replied, which made Chris scoff.

"Don't curse him just yet."

"Hush," Linda said with a playful smack to his knee. "You're extremely handsome."

"To some people," Fran said drolly, which made Henry snort with a laugh.

"At any rate, he's here and he's healthy." Ruth clapped. "Little Robert Holmes. I'm so happy!"

Chris frowned at hearing the name from his mother's mouth. He thought it was just his imagination running away with him the night before when he thought about how much the name didn't suit the baby, but no, it still didn't.

"So his name's Robert," Elijah said as Robert was passed over to him. "Very traditional."

"After Robert Burns, I'm guessing?" Helen asked from where she was sitting down in a chair with Chase in her lap.

"Mhm. Chris used to read me his poetry all the time when we were in university. I thought it would be a nice tribute to an important part of our relationship."

He smiled at her sincerity and thoughtfulness, but even still, the name didn't sit right...

"He looks smart. You sure he's your boy, Chris?"

"Oh, that hurt so much," Chris replied dryly to Henry's tease.

"Little Robbie," Ruth cooed happily as he was put into her arms. Although Linda smiled at the affectionate nickname, Chris felt himself wince. It was like he was hearing nails dragging down a chalkboard. No. No. No. It was NOT the name.

"You know what? I hate the name Robert."

Everyone stopped talking and turned to look at his sudden declaration.

"What do you mean you hate it?" Linda asked. "You're the one that suggested it."

"It doesn't suit him." Chris stood up to his feet and started to pace in the small space by the bed. "There's just something, something wrong with it..." He closed his eyes to rack his memory, the moments of the past filtering through his mind like photographs. Everyone watched as he muttered to himself, snapping his head around like he was trying to catch a glimpse of something passing by and then, with a jump, his eyes snapped open. "

There was a name you told me...years ago...what WAS IT?" He started to move again.

"Chris, we've had this name picked out for months; we're not changing it now."

"Why can't we? We haven't signed the birth certificate, so nothing's set in stone." He waved his hand at Linda in dismissal, which made her balk.

"We're signing it for Robert Holmes." There was no mistaking the seriousness of her tone.

"No, we're not. I'm not putting my name on anything I don't agree with."

"You know, you're choosing the wrong time to get stubborn about this. We have to have a name before they'll let us take him home."

"And we will have one. Just not Robert," he added in afterthought, stopping to continue to think.

"Chris, you and Linda have already decided the name-" Aaron started.

"It was the name of the waiter."

"Waiter?" Fran repeated in bewilderment.

"At the pub where we had our first date."

"Like, the date with you, me, Fran and Linda?" Michael asked.

"No, no, OUR first date." Chris made a motion between himself and Linda.

"It wasn't a date, it was a thank you dinner," Linda pointed out.

"Please, I made up that excuse just so you would go out with me. It was a date."

Michael barked out a laugh, but immediately quieted down at the glare shot in his direction.

"Mike, talk some sense into him," Melody said tiredly.

"Mike..." Chris muttered the name over and over again, something finally floating from the deep pool of his memories...

_It's an old name, mostly a last name though, _Linda's voice from 5 years ago said in his mind. _We had one in the family, way back there in history, though...It's a very regal name..._

Like a movie, he brought the scene in his mind back to the beginning of their dinner, when they walked in the pub...they sat down, but the waiter didn't know he had people and he had to be called...Mike...My...Croft...

"Mycroft!" The shout of victory made everyone jump. "Mycroft was his name!" Chris clarified with a spin and point to Linda, who looked startled. "You told me that you would name your son that if you could. And by the way." He turned around to face Michael with a scowl. "I can too spell 'sense'."

Linda titled her head thoughtfully. "Mycroft…yes, I remember now..." She looked to the bundle of blankets in Ruth's arms. "Mycroft Holmes." It rolled off of her tongue with such ease, such grace. "We could call him Mike for short," she finished to Chris, who smirked at her agreement.

"What kind of name is Mycroft?" Henry asked with a wrinkle of his nose.

"The name of your nephew."

"But Robert is a fine name," Ruth argued. "It's normal, pronounceable, and very respectable. I vote for you to keep Robert." She raised her hand high, and Chris made a noise of frustration.

"Since when do you get a say in MY son's name?"

"OUR son." Linda corrected, causing him to sigh.

"Yes, OUR son."

"I'm just giving you my opinion-"

"This isn't a forum!"

"Chris, stop attacking Mum," Helen said suddenly from where she was watching the scene unfold.

"I'm not attacking her. For God's sake, she's the one that feels like her word is bloody gospel."

"I do not!" Ruth argued, her body puffing up like a blow fish at such a thing said about her.

"You know, Chris, you can be so immature."

"What the hell does my level of maturity have to do with naming this baby?!"

"You mean your nonexistent level of maturity," Helen muttered through a cough. "You always get on like Mum is this giant pest, when all she's doing is giving an opinion about what she thinks."

"You obviously haven't been around this woman enough," Chris said with a point to his mother. "You give her an inch, she'll run around the damn moon if you let her."

"You're over-exaggerating-"

"I am not bloody over-exaggerating!"

Linda put her hand to her forehead and sighed tiredly. One day. Just one day, she would love it if they could all be in the same room with no fights. But this was the Holmes family. There was no such thing as a peaceful day, even if there was a new addition to the family.

"All right, everyone, stop it now," Ginger said gently as Emily started to fuss. "You're upsetting the children."

Chase looked around at everyone, obviously trying to figure out what was happening and Robert/Mycroft made loud mews of protest from his bundle of blankets, despite Ruth's rocking to calm him down.

"We all just need to separate and take a deep breath," she finished.

"If Chris can stop talking long enough to even breathe," Helen said sarcastically.

"Oh, God, here we go." Michael said with an eye roll and dramatic sigh to the ceiling.

"You know, Helen-"

"Oh no!" Aaron got in the middle of his wife and brother. "Both of you, don't say a word."

With a look that made Chris seethe, Helen turned her gaze away and held her chin up high. A deafening pause descended on the room, until it was broken by...

"I still vote for you to keep Robert."

With a huff of utter annoyance, Chris spun around to say something to his mother.

"Don't you dare." Linda's snarl of a command made him and the entire room freeze. "I have just had a baby, and you're over there about to start a world war. Chris, just do me this one favor: Sit. Down. And. Shut. Up."

The brothers, Michael and Fran all looked impressed at how fast Chris obeyed, moving to sit down in his seat next to the bed and sulk.

"Now." Everyone's attention fell to Linda. "How about this? We'll keep Robert, but we'll make it his middle name. So his full name will be Mycroft Robert Holmes."

A pause.

"I think that's fine," Elijah said first.

"Sounds good to me," Aaron followed with a shrug of indifference from Helen.

"Very good." Michael and Melody nodded in agreement.

"He needs a unique name anyway. He's the son a genius, after all," Fran said with a wink.

"I can get used to calling him Mike." Henry shrugged to Ginger, who smiled.

"Well...it's not traditional, but I suppose it's all right," Ruth finally grumbled, obviously highly disappointed. A knock on the door, however, drew everyone's attention away from her bristle.

"Hello!" A nurse cheerfully called as she walked in. "Well, I see you're doing very well, Mrs. Holmes." She bounced over to the bedside with a clipboard in her hand. "I bet you're eager to get back home with the little one, but there's one thing you need to do first. We just need a name for him and you and your husband's signatures." She waited with the pen held to the birth certificate.

With one last glance and smile to Chris over shoulder, Linda looked to the nurse.

"His name's Mycroft. Mycroft Robert Holmes." The nurse took note of the name, collected the signatures and left them with her well-wishes and a promise of discharge papers.

"And thus," Henry's voice boomed all around the room as the nurse shut the door. "Christopher William Holmes has been inducted into the Daddy Holmes Club!"

* * *

_What Linda and I didn't know was that we had just been given one of the world's most brilliant minds as our son. Why Fate felt the need to bestow this wonderful gift upon us, we didn't know, but we weren't going to question it. Though sometimes we felt inferior to his intellectual prowess, Mycroft was our pride and joy and we tried our utmost best to keep up with him. After awhile, however, we felt that he was lonely and would appreciate a sibling..._


	6. His First Bow: Chapter One

**His First Bow:** _After a seven year gap, we found out that Linda was expecting again. Unfortunately, this pregnancy, from start to finish, wasn't an easy affair, but if you know Sherlock, you understand that he normally doesn't make things easy on those that he associates with and always has to make a grand entrance. The story of his birth, of course, is no different..._

* * *

_**Chapter One**_

"Two weeks." Linda crossed out another day on the calendar in the kitchen. "He's two weeks overdue."

"Twelve days," Seven-year-old Mycroft corrected lazily from his place at the kitchen table where he was reading from one of the massive encyclopedias that he had received for Christmas and nibbling from a plate of toast.

"Close enough." She waddled away from the calender and toward the oven. "You know, whoever said that being pregnant is a wonderful experience needs to be drug into the street and shot for their utter ignorance."

From his armchair in the sitting room, his face behind a book, Chris rolled his eyes and kept his mouth shut at her harsh comment. Linda had been experiencing a rather strong streak of aggression and sarcasm all throughout her pregnancy, and it was just better to let her spout off than even try and console her.

"You know, as much as I want to say that you're being over-dramatic, it's also understandable that you're moody," Mycroft said very matter-of-factly. "Not only do you have hormones and emotional changes to worry about, but it must really be hard for you to see yourself so large."

"Mike!" Chris shut the book with a slam, shooting a glare at his son's callous words. Linda's face fell and she looked to her swollen belly. With a deep sigh, Mycroft immediately got up and went to her side.

"I'm sorry, Mummy."

Even though they seemed to be at odds almost all the time, there was no denying that Mycroft really truly did love and care about his mother, almost to the point that he was like a protective bear over her. She smiled and gently pet his head.

"Why aren't I coming with you to see Nana and Papa Gregory?" he asked as he went back to his seat.

"It's the first day of the new term, you need to be at school The pie smells great, honey., Chris noted randomly as Linda grunted with effort to pull herself up from the oven with a pie in her hands and set it on the counter, wincing slightly as she rubbed her lower back.

Mycroft intensely studied her movements. "That's the third time in ten minutes that you've rubbed that exact same spot."

"I've been bending over and I'm carrying a baby; of course my back would hurt."

"Are you sure it's not contractions?"

Out of everything that he faced as a seven-year-old, Mycroft constantly fretted that something would happen to where he wouldn't be there when the newest little edition to the Holmes family arrived. To better prepare himself for the birth of his little brother, he had been reading and studying Linda's baby books carefully over the nine months, monitoring her progress in the pregnancy and each milestone with a hawk-like eye. "You're already overdue; you shouldn't even be thinking about traveling in your condition," he continued.

"Mike, don't worry, we'll be back before anything happens," Chris said, adding a reassuring smile to make his point.

"Besides, I haven't seen my parents since last Christmas, and no," she added as Mycroft opened his mouth. "A phone call isn't the same as seeing someone in person."

His jaw closed shut. "I still don't think you should go," he muttered after a few seconds. Both parents gave each other a tired look and decided to let the subject drop.

* * *

Soon, they were all on the road to drop Mycroft off at school. As he left the car, he came around to Linda's window.

"You will call someone right away if something happens." It wasn't a question, it wasn't a request, it wasn't even a demand, but a command.

"We will," Chris promised with a sly wink to his wife, who was trying to hold back a smile. At those words, Mycroft turned around and walked away from the car, sneaking one last look over his shoulder before going up the stairs toward the school building.

"Is it just me or is Mike more anxious about meeting this baby than we are?"

"This poor child. Sicking Mike on him as his older brother. We've done such a cruel thing." With a laugh between them at Chris's dry remark, they took each others' hand and prepared for the drive toward the countryside.

* * *

"So how far along are you, Linda darling?"

"Overdue, actually," Linda answered her mother, Sarah, as she sipped on her tea in the sitting room of the mansion where she grew up. Even though they were divorced, Sarah and Ulysses managed to put aside their differences long enough to be in the same room to visit with her and Chris. It was truly a miracle.

"Well, the baby knows when he'll want to come," Ulysses said simply. "So how's the publishing world going, Chris?"

Thankfully, over the years, Chris and Ulysses had managed to come to an understanding about each other, especially in regards to Linda, and there wasn't as much animosity between them as there had once been.

"Good. I got a promotion recently; I'm not editing technical manuals anymore."

"Oh, that's good. So what do you do now?"

"I'm the deputy editor."

"Wow, that's a big job," Ulysses said, clearly impressed. Linda was pretty sure she looked like a clown with all the smiling that she was doing, but she just couldn't help but be proud of her husband's achievement.

"Well, I worked hard to get there. A lot of hours spent reading reports that would make a normal person have a brain bleed."

Everyone chuckled.

"Well, that's great. And you, Linda? How's being a professor?"

"Good. I've finally finished writing the textbook for the combustions class for the science department." She pulled out _The Dynamics of Combustion_ from her purse and held it out to them.

"That's my girl." Her father's chest could've exploded, it was so puffed up with pride.

"M.L. Holmes," Sarah read the author's line out loud.

"Chris suggested it."

"Just so there wouldn't be a huge debate about the author being a woman," Chris said with a shrug. "In this day and age, though we have brilliant women, some men just aren't open to learning from one."

"Oh. So it's not because of your real name?" Sarah asked casually, flipping through the book. Linda tensed.

"You know I hate that name."

"Why?"

"Really? You can't understand why I would hate to have 'Muriel' as my first name?"

Ulysses and Chris looked at each other, both knowing that Linda was right on the edge of a rant. If there was anything that could get her raging like a pent up bull, it was the subject of her real first name. And the hormones of pregnancy would only serve to make her mood worse.

"It was your grandmother's name."

"And that makes it better how? Look, I don't want to talk about this," Linda cut across the beginning of Sarah's reply. "The book is under M.L. Holmes and my name is Linda. There. That's that."

Everyone fell silent and quietly finished their tea.

"Have you thought of a name for the baby?" Sarah politely asked after a minute. With a glance to her husband, Linda prepared herself for the strange looks.

"Sherlock."

"Sherlock?" Ulysses repeated. "What kind of name is Sherlock?"

"See, I told you," Chris said with a sigh. "It's a name that she heard back when we were in university before we got married."

Actually, it was the last name of a famous archeologist that worked with Elijah in Cairo; Linda hadn't forgotten the unique name ever since she heard it the first time that night in Chris's bedroom at his mother's house and was determined, come hell or high water, to name their son that ever uncommon name.

"But Sherlock?"

"Yes. Sherlock Holmes. It has a ring to it," Linda defended simply, setting down her cup and saucer to stand up slowly, reaching to rub her lower back.

"Are you okay?" Chris asked, looking extremely concerned.

"Um, yeah. I probably just exhausted my back."

Her parents looked rather wary of the explanation. "Maybe you all should head out early." Sarah finally suggested.

"But-"

"You should be at home resting anyway, dear." Ulysses put down his cup and stood up. "You can always come visit again after the baby's born."

The Holmes were ushered to the door and exchanged goodbyes before leaving to walk down to the car that the driver pulled around for them.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Chris asked as they settled down in the car.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a backache."

"It's not contractions?"

"I would know if it's contractions," she said confidently and with an air of amusement. "I've had a baby before."

He didn't look convinced, but nonetheless, he stayed silent, and drove out of the wide driveway and down the quaint country road, Linda sitting back to watch out the window as the winter country passed by in a blur. It was going to take at least two hours to get home, but she was sure that the baby wasn't going to try and come in that time. He apparently had no concept of a due date anyway, so why worry?

They drove for at least half an hour and then, all of a sudden, the car made a grinding noise.

"What the…" Chris muttered as the car backfired and started to slow down. "Oh, for the love of-" He guided the car to the shoulder of the road and shut off the engine. "Great," he said quietly. "Don't worry," He looked to Linda. "I'm sure it's fixable. Stay here." He got out of the car and went around the front to open the hood.

Linda winced against the pain in her back. If she didn't know better, she would say that it was getting worse with every passing minute. In both desperation for some relief and worry about what was happening, she opened the door and got out, the cold air biting at her cheeks as she waddled around to see Chris looking at the slightly smoking engine.

"Why did you come out? I've got everything under control."

"I just wanted to see if-"

A whoosh of water made her stop talking and she felt it start to trickle down to the ground, her legs suddenly freezing as the water met with the bitter cold air. Chris looked down to the increasing puddle by her feet.

"Please don't tell me that's your water." He sounded amazingly calmly, despite his face suddenly going extremely pale. She swallowed and took in a shaky breath, afraid to answer.

"Oh, my God..." The air around them rang with a very strong curse, which would've made her blush and scold him under normal circumstances, but in that case, it made her feel sick. "We're in the middle of nowhere!" he whined as he turned his back to her, grabbing fistfuls of his hair.

"You don't think I know that?" She gripped the car hood as a powerful contraction went through her. "It's not like I told the baby to come now!"

He turned back around and frowned at the sight of her trying to hold in a cry of pain and the water at her feet. "How long do you think you can wait?"

"At this rate, not long." She whimpered and cluched a hand to her back.

"Okay." He gently grabbed her arms and led her back to the car, helping her to sit down in the back seat. He took off his coat and drapped it over her to give her some extra warmth and comfort and stood for a couple of minutes outside the car to watch the road, glancing wildly down both sides to look for any cars. But there was no one. From inside the car, Linda let out a strangled, pained whine, doing breathing exercises to try and control the pain.

"There's no one coming..." Chris started to pace, his mind furiously trying to piece together what he should do. He couldn't leave Linda, but he couldn't just stand there and hope for someone to come, either. What to do, what to do?

He spun around. "I'm going to go see if I can find some help." She didn't reply, but tensed as another contraction paralyzed her body. It was so hard to see her in that much pain and not able to alleviate it. With a gentle kiss to her forehead, he shut the door and took off at a dead run down the road, not knowing where he was going, but praying and hoping that someone would come.


	7. His First Bow: Chapter Two

**His First Bow**

_**Chapter Two**_

If there was any time in his life where Chris had felt like a complete failure as a husband, it was this moment.

With heavy pants, he stopped and held his side as it burned against the strain of running, his body humming with heat despite the freezing temperature. He felt his terror start to overwhelm him as he looked all around the bleak, dull January landscape. There wasn't anyone in sight - not a single car, not a single person. Just miles and miles of open, snowy country. His mind screamed at him that they should've listened to Mycroft, that they should've just stayed home and forgotten about traveling. Grabbing his hair again, he tugged as he tried to figure out what to do, yelling out in blazing anger when he couldn't make himself think straight through the jumble of thoughts and voices. He looked up to the sky.

"If you're up there, I need a miracle!" he called desperately as he walked to a large boulder and took a seat. With his body at rest, the sweat that drenched him started to freeze against his skin and though he knew it was futile, he drew himself in closer and tried to find some warmth. What if no one came for awhile? What if he and Linda had to deliver the baby themselves and something went wrong? He couldn't bear to think about hurting her or the baby due to his lack of knowledge about child birth.

"Look, I know that I really don't acknowledge or believe in some higher order."

Why he felt the need to suddenly speak to God (if there was such a being) was beyond him, but he slowly felt whatever was left of his sanity slipping, and he needed something, anything to give him some hope.

"But please," he continued. "Whoever you are, whatever you are, have mercy on us. We need some help."

As soon as the words left his mouth, a monstrous backfire sounded over the hill and a dark blue truck came down the road, slowing to a stop with a loud bang in front of him.

"You all right, sir?" an old man called, his many chins wobbling as he asked the question. Chris sprung up and went up to the window.

"Our car broke down and my wife is going to have a baby. Please, can you help us?"

The man's eyes widened. "Son, I didn't understand a word you just said. Say that again, but much slower; my ears don't work like they used to."

With a very slight chuckle, Chris repeated himself slowly and the man immediately sat up straighter, a determined look on his face.

"Hop in! This her first?" he asked as Chris climbed into the cab and slammed the old metal door.

"Second."

"She's tough, then."

The man gunned down the road, curses raining from his mouth as the truck groaned and strained with the effort of being pushed so hard to go. After a couple of minutes, they were back at the Holmes car and Chris hopped out from the cab, opening the backseat door to see Linda with her eyes closed and breathing weakly, her face disturbingly pale. Her head drooped to the side limply and a weak moan escaped her lips.

"We gotta get her back to the house. She won't make it to the hospital. Can you pick her up?"

Before Chris could answer, the man shook his head and got out of the truck cab. "You're skinny; she would probably break you in half," he grumbled.

There was no time to even get offended by that statement. The old man reached in and picked her up bridal style with ease, setting her gently in the passenger seat of the cab. "Hold her good, 'cause I'll be driving as fast as I can."

"Thank you…"

"Oscar," Oscar finished. "No time for introductions. Hold her."

With a nod, Chris shut the car door and climbed in next to Linda and held her as the truck drove, his teeth rattling in his head as it went roughly over rocks and bumps. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up.

"Chris," she whispered weakly.

"I'm here." He kissed her sweaty forehead and hugged her tighter. "Don't worry, you're going to be okay." He hoped that the truck's rocky movements disguised his shaking.

"I'm so tired…" She laid her head against his shoulder, falling back into a state of unconsciousness as the truck turned and went down a dirt road and up to a large farmhouse where some cows were lazily wandering around.

"Georgina!" Oscar roared as he shut off the truck and got out of the cab. The screen door to the house opened and a very large, elderly woman waddled out, her face and hair decorated with puffs of flour.

"What in the world-" she started to call.

"This woman's about to have her baby," Oscar cut across as Chris helped him take Linda in his arms.

Georgina nodded. "Take her to the back bedroom, then," she said as Oscar passed her and went into the house. Chris followed quickly, but the short, plump woman got in his way as he started to walk down the hall.

"No men. Birth is a woman's business," she said sternly. What was it with elderly women telling him he wasn't allowed in the room? With a growl, he shoved her aside gently.

"Oh, no, you don't. I wasn't there for the birth of my first son; you're not about to sit there and tell me I can't be there for this one. "

"Calm down, there; I'll need some help with your car, anyway," Oscar said as he came down the hall, stopping to hold Chris back. "She's awake, but barely," he told Georgina.

"But-"

"No buts!"

"Chris!" Everyone looked toward Linda's panicked and high-pitched shout. "Where are you?!"

"You're on your own with the car. You, come with me."

Chris was practically dragged down the hallway by his arm and into the homely bedroom, where Linda was withering on the bed, gripping the blankets so tightly her knuckles were white.

"He's here, dear."

"Linda, I'm here." He got on his knees by her and pushed back pieces of sweat drenched hair from her face so she could see him. A very brief smile crossed her face, and then she tensed as another contraction overtook her, clenching her teeth in obvious agonizing pain. He reached and grabbed her hand, her nails immediately digging into his skin. He held back a cry of pain at her iron sharp grip; he swore that she was a hair's length away from breaking every bone in his hand and tearing his skin to shreds.

"I hate you."

He blinked in shock at her soft whimper.

"Don't listen to her." Georgina came back into the room with a bowl of hot water and a stack of towels. "She doesn't know what she's saying."

Before Chris could reply, Linda suddenly yelled a very colorful curse to the ceiling, making him balk, utterly flummoxed. Gone (at least for a moment) was the sweet, prim and proper Linda Holmes. If this was what it was like to watch a woman give birth, he could see why the hospital said no to letting him in the birthing room for Mycroft's birth. After the pain subsided, Georgina spread Linda's legs, moved them up and draped a blanket over her knees so Chris couldn't see anything.

"You did this to me," Linda sobbed, panting from the strength of her mounting contractions.

"Not without your consent," he argued back weakly, not really sure if that was the right response. Georgina sputtered and shot him a look over the blanket before lowering back down. No, definitely not the right response.

"Get away from me, you brute!" Linda's hand reached out and slapped his chest to push him away. With a furrow of his brow and a sad countenance, he started to get up, but as another contraction seized her body, she cried out and grabbed his shirt to jerk him back toward her, her arm crushing his windpipe in a fierce hug.

"No, Chris, I'm sorry! I love you; please don't leave me!" she wailed to the ceiling as her grip got tighter and tighter with each word.

"Linda, I can't breathe," he wheezed, trying to fight his way out of her hold, but failing miserably. Thankfully, before he completely passed out, she let him go and he pulled back to stroke her hair soothingly, conscious to keep his neck far away from her reach.

"Okay, when I say push, you push down as hard as you can, okay?!" Georgina called from behind the blanket. "Ready?! Push!"

Linda pushed down and her face twisted into a grimace.

"And relax! Breathe. You're doing great…"

"Linda," Chris coughed.

"Linda. Take a deep breath, and get ready to push again."

"I'm going to die," she whimpered as she was told to push again. Two more times, Georgina coached Linda to on when to push, her breathing heavier and heavier each time she was told to relax.

"I can see the baby's head!"

"You hear that, Lin? Look at me." Her gaze moved up to Chris's face, her eyes cloudy and unfocused. "You're almost there. You can do it," he said, squeezing her hand.

"All right, Linda, one more big push for me! Ready?! PUSH!"

With one last push, a scream of absolute torture tore from Linda's throat that made Chris tense, his ears painfully ringing. But as the ringing faded, he heard a distant echo…no, that wasn't an echo...

That was the sound of a baby crying.

"It's a boy! This one's got a great set of lungs," Georgina said approvingly from behind the blanket. Linda fell back with a heave, closing her eyes to catch her breathe. Silently, with a slight sense of awe and pride, Chris watched as Georgina cleaned the baby off and wrapped him in a towel. She brought the little screaming bundle over to them, a huge smile on her face.

"Hello there," Chris cooed as he gently rocked Sherlock to calm him down. Slowly, the screaming ceased to a soft cry. "Linda, look. Look at Sherlock."

Slowly, her eyes opened and she looked at her little baby, who let out a soft hiccup as his crystal blue eyes met hers. She reached to tenderly touch the soft, wet skin of his cheek.

"My baby..."

"Born at 2:21 PM," Georgina said happily as she came back to their side. Sherlock's face scrunched up and he let out another ear shattering scream. "Better feed him before he brings the house down with those yells."

Linda was helped to sit up and she took him and moved to start feeding him. "Why don't you go ahead and give us a minute?" Georgina said gently.

Chris nodded and got up to leave, but not before kissing his extremely exhausted, yet smiling wife gently on the lips and giving the dark head of hair by her breast a kiss as well.

Oscar was standing in the living room when Chris walked out.

"She had it, then?"

"A healthy baby boy."

"Ah, that's a good thing." Oscar beamed. "We better get Mummy and baby to the hospital, so they can get all checked out. Your car will need something more powerful that what I've got here, but it'll be all right after some maintenance."

"Thank you so much." There wasn't enough thanks for this old man and his wife's gracious interference into their situation.

"We do this all the time," Oscar said with a wave of his hand. "Life of a farmer." They sat in silence for a few minutes and then Georgina came out with Sherlock in her arms.

"All fed and ready to go."

The baby gurgled happily as he was passed over to his father's waiting arms. Oscar went and collected Linda and they all went outside to the truck and climbed into the cab, Georgina waving them off. Together, Chris and Linda held Sherlock between them as they drove through the winter countryside and to the small hospital, watching him crossing his eyes in an attempt to clearly see their faces.

"You know," Linda said thoughtfully. "After the incident with Mike's name, I think we should give this one a proper first name so Nana Holmes will be happy…how about William?"

"My middle name?"

"Why not? And we can do another middle name for him…"

"Scott," Oscar said suddenly. "That's my son's name. Oscar's too old for a wee one these days," he said with a wink.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes," Chris said slowly. "Sounds good to me."

"Me too." Linda laid her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry about what I said in there to you."

"Well...you were having a baby, I guess I shouldn't have expected you to remain meek and gentle."

She chuckled.

"But you're all right, Sherlock's here, safe and sound and that's all that matters to me."

She looked up to him. "I love you."

"I love you, too." They shared a very brief kiss as Sherlock let out a loud wail, clearly done with being ignored.

"Boy, that one's going to be something else. But you know what they say: the youngest is always the one that causes the most trouble. God help you."The old man laughed heartily as the truck coughed and wheezed all the way down the road, the happy parents beaming at their baby boy.


	8. His First Bow: Chapter Three

**His First Bow**

_**Chapter Three**_

Oscar dropped the Holmes family off at the small country hospital and offered his well wishes before driving away, the truck dangerously backfiring as it drove over the hill. Once inside, the nursing staff took Linda and Sherlock to be examined and Chris made a phone call that he knew was bound to get them all into huge trouble with Mycroft.

"Hi, Ging."

"Oh, hi, Chris." Ginger sounded relieved to hear his voice. "Mike hasn't stopped asking about you all since he got here from school. Is everything all right?"

"Well, actually they're splendid. Linda had the baby."

"What?!" Something crashed in the background. "Are you serious?!"

With a chuckle, Chris explained the whole day's events.

"Oh, my goodness!" Ginger barked Mycroft's name away from the phone. "Henry's not back from work yet, but as soon as he gets here, we'll come to you all. Where are you?" He told her the hospital name, and they hung up, Chris taking a seat in the main waiting room to mentally prepare himself for Hurricane Mycroft...

* * *

About an hour later, he heard the characteristic stomps of a certain seven-year-old storming around the corner and into the waiting room.

"I. TOLD. YOU."

Everyone's talking quieted as Mycroft stopped in front of Chris and gave him a horribly seething glare. "You'll be back before anything happens, you said. Of course, you would say that and then go stupidly gallivanting off to God knows where, Mummy would go into labor and the baby would be born. How could they do that to me?" he complained through what sounded very dangerously like a whine, looking absolutely betrayed and annoyed. Chris had to fight himself to keep from laughing at his scolding.

"How are they?" Henry called from a little ways away as he, Ginger, Emily and 3-year-old Kate all came up.

"Doing great, as far as I know."

" 'As far as you know'," Mycroft repeated with an eye roll.

"So how much did she curse?"

Ginger nudged Henry's side and gave him a droll stare.

"She made you look like a kitten."

Everyone stopped talking at the deep and hearty laugh that rang all around the waiting area, even causing the nurses to stop what they were doing.

"That's my girl!" Henry cried with enthusiasm, pointing to the ceiling. With an eye roll, Chris looked in front of him to see Mycroft gone, and striding off toward the double doors that led to the back, ignoring the nurse's call to stop him.

"Whoa, Mike." Chris shot to his feet and grabbed his arm just in time, and with an apologetic smile to the scowling nurse, he dragged the little boy back toward the waiting room. "Just wait. They're making sure Mum and Sherlock can come home, first, and then they'll let us back there to see them."

"But what if the doctor doesn't examine them properly?"

"Mike, the doctor knows what he's doing," Henry offered.

"But what if-"

"Just sit down." Chris tugged him into the seat next to him. Still bristling at everyone's casual treatment toward the fact that Linda and Sherlock were among strangers, Mycroft grumbled something about how he had more common sense that all of the doctors combined and the adults chuckled with amusement at his moodiness.

"Mr. Holmes?" A nurse came over after a few minutes. "Your wife and son are fine. You can go see them now."

"Which way?" Mycroft proudly strode the way she pointed and Henry and Ginger said they were going to use the phone to call the rest of the family and that they would be along soon. Chris followed Mycroft's commanding lead down the hallway and into the recovery wing, chuckling as he asked a nurse at the nurse's station to point out his mother's room. As he practically slammed open the door, probably with the intent to tell both Linda and Sherlock off, he slowed down as he saw them dozing on the bed, little Sherlock snuggled comfortably into his mother's chest. She opened her eyes as she heard footsteps stop by her bedside.

"Hi, Mike," she murmured sleepily, rubbing the baby's back as he made a soft noise. "Do you want to hold Sherlock?"

Mycroft nodded slowly and climbed up next to her, taking Sherlock into his arms and watching the little face that was so intently studying him. Anger quickly turned into amazement as Mycroft held his newborn baby brother with the skill of an adult.

"He's so small."

Both parents smiled at his soft and croaky words as they watched their sons make an instant connection over the space between them. The textbook description of love at first sight...

But of course, the fuzzy feelings ended just as soon as they began. "Hope he's not stupid," he suddenly muttered with a tug to the blanket wrapped around the baby.

"He's a Holmes, Mike," Chris said with a wink to Linda, who had rolled her eyes at her son's comment. "He'll be anything but stupid."

The little boy looked unconvinced, but stayed quiet all the same. "How could you be born without me there?"

Sherlock, to Mycroft's insane annoyance and Linda and Chris's amusement, cooed and started to gum his chubby fingers lazily. "What if you or Mummy had needed immediate medical attention? That was very irresponsible of you."

"Mike, stop trying to lecture your brother," Linda said in exasperation, though she couldn't help but smile at the cute scene of him giving Sherlock a hard time. With a huff, Mycroft backed off but not before getting one last word in.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"Hand him over." Linda held out her hands to take the baby back and tickled his chin with her finger.

"You know, he looks so much like you," Chris said as he strolled to the bedside and took a seat. "I almost wonder where I was when he was being made."

"You were exactly where you were supposed to be."

Mycroft's face twisted into a look of disgust. "Really, in front of me?"

"Anyway, I think Sherlock will inherit a lot of your personality." Linda continued over his over-exaggerated gag.

"Maybe so."

Mycroft leaned against Linda and looked on carefully as Chris took Sherlock and cradled him in his arms.

"You're holding him wrong," he said.

"No, I'm not."

"He's going to start crying." True to those words, Sherlock started to whine and let out a cry, which spurred his older brother to get off the bed and go around to take him. Immediately, as if by magic, he quieted down and made a squealing noise that sounded almost joyful when he saw who was holding him.

"Look at you, Mike," Linda said approvingly. "You're going to be an excellent big brother. He's taking to you already."

To Chris's surprise, Mycroft actually smiled at her words and took Sherlock to sit in the rocking chair by the window. The parents smiled and snuggled together in contentment.

"Who would've thought this would be our life?" Chris asked as he kissed his wife's cheek gently.

"Two incredible boys. An unstoppable team," she murmured, sighing. "You know, after we left my parent's, I got to thinking…would you be completely opposed to me quitting my job and staying home with them?"

He looked at her in surprise. "But you love teaching."

"I do, but they're my life now," she said with a short nod toward the rocking chair. "Mathematics is in my blood, but in the face of being a mother, it seems terribly fatuous."

"I mean, if you're sure you want to…"

"Definitely. Becoming a mother is one of the highest honors I've ever been given, and I don't want to miss a second of it."

He couldn't help but smile at her romantic words.

"Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes. History in the making."

"I'm going to teach you everything I know," Mycroft softly started to tell Sherlock of his plans for his life, and Chris chuckled softly, nudging Linda to look at him so he could kiss her.

"The beginning of a legacy."

* * *

_Though Mycroft acted as though he was greatly aggravated to have Sherlock constantly shadowing him as he grew up, you could tell that he loved his little brother dearly and would do anything he could to make sure that he was happy. True to the promise on the day of his birth, Sherlock became Mycroft's "wing man" so to speak, and taught him the ways of his mind. It appeared that in these two brothers was the capacity to bring the world to its knees. _

_With Sherlock's birth, Linda and I were pretty sure that our family was complete; however, there was one more member that had yet to make an appearance. It wouldn't be until years later and a chance encounter during a thunderstorm that we would have the chance to welcome him home..._


	9. Welcome Home: Chapter One

**Welcome Home**: _While this next story may not seem very grand or exciting, it's an important part of not only Sherlock's life, but it was also a new step in Linda's growth as a mother. According to Sherlock, when he was going into shock after he was shot, he had to find something to help him take his mind off of the pain, and I wasn't surprised when he said the name of a certain dog...__  
_

* * *

_**Chapter One**_

"Arrrr! It do be land up ahead! Lower the anchor!" Five-year-old Captain Sherlock called as he and his first mate sailed the open seas of the small backyard.

"Aye, aye, Cap'n!" First mate Wendy, his youngest cousin, called happily, lowering the invisible anchor out of their makeshift pirate ship. At three-years-old, Wendy was different from the other cousins that Sherlock had been forced to spend time with; although she was unbelievably ordinary and plain like the rest of the group, she was the only one that happily cooperated with whatever Sherlock wanted to do, even if it was pretending to be pirates every time they met for a play date. And who could turn down such silent obedience? "Cap'n, watch out for the rocks on the bay!"

"Batten down the hatches!"

Wendy immediately set to work with battening down the invisible hatches, but Captain Sherlock was too late in calling the command.

"Abandon ship!" Together, they both jumped out of the cardboard ship and landed in the soft, warm summer grass, laughing at the sheer silliness of their fantasy.

"Sherlock! Wendy!" Helen called from the kitchen. "Come and get your snacks!"

As they got up from the ground, the family's Scottish terrier, Hector, came running over and eagerly followed them back to the house. As Sherlock watched Wendy and Hector walk together, a pang picked at his conscious. Though Mycroft had told him over and over to never be jealous of what anyone had, especially when it came to what simple people had, there was one thing that Sherlock was constantly jealous of when it came to the extended family:

They had a dog.

The longing for a furry companion got stronger and stronger each time Sherlock spent time Hector, and even though he had asked his mother many times to consider getting a dog for their own family, he was met with increasing resistance. But not this time. Sherlock had been doing some light research via Mycroft's many school textbooks and libraries of encyclopedias and had made a case that Linda was sure to agree to. He had spent days practicing what he was going to say and how he was going to say it until there wasn't any choice but for her to say yes. It was a foolproof plan.

And like any good-old fashioned victory, he had to make sure and bring a gift for the losing side...

* * *

"What are you doing?" Twelve-year-old Mycroft strolled into the kitchen to see Sherlock standing on a stool by the counter, carefully measuring ingredients around a mug.

"Making tea."

"Ah." He leaned against the counter, watching his little brother with a mixture of love, exasperation and suspicion. It was obvious to him what the little boy was up to. He barely needed the clues of the black hairs all along his shorts, the grass stains on the top of his socks or the fact that the tea that he was preparing was made with milk and three sugars. "You won't get her to budge, you know," he said after a few seconds.

"Yes, I will," Sherlock said without taking his eyes off of the mug.

"What makes you think so?"

"Mummy loves numbers and facts."

"And?"

"So I give her what she wants and she gives me what I want."

Mycroft chuckled, more out of pity than amusement. "That's not how it works, brother dear."

"Stop calling me that," Sherlock snapped, taking the mug and carefully getting off the stool. Why his older brother had suddenly started calling him that was beyond him, but he didn't have time to figure it out. He was on a mission.

He walked past Mycroft, making sure to make a goofy face for good measure and walked up the stairs and down the hall to the master bedroom, where Linda was lounging back in the large armchair by the window, knee deep in preparing the monthly household budget. She barely noticed that Sherlock was standing right next to her, holding her favorite blue mug in his hands.

"I made you tea."

She looked and he offered it to her with a sweet smile. "Oh, thank you, darling." She smiled and took the mug and sipped lightly at the warm tea. "Just the way I like it, too."

He seemed extremely pleased to hear that and quietly shuffled his feet. "So, Mummy, I've been thinking."

She stopped drinking at his gentle, yet motivated tone.

"You know, we as a family are lacking something."

Slowly, she lowered the mug from her lips. "We are?"

"Yes. And I think I know what we need."_ I_

_ knew it,_ she thought to herself._ Here comes the blasted dog argument again_.

"Did you know that statistics say when you have a dog, your chances for suffering from depression, high blood pressure and high cholesterol all go down?" Well, at least he wasn't trying to beat around the bush like he normally did; it was going to make ending the discussion much quicker.

"None of us are depressed, have high blood pressure or cholesterol," Linda said flatly, setting the mug down on the table next to her.

"And you get over the common cold faster-"

"Sherlock, how many times do we have to have this talk before you finally understand that the answer is no?"

He pursed his lips in aggravation.

"You only want a dog because your cousins have one. Well, I'm sorry, but you'll just have to play with Hector and get your dog fix through him."

"Hector's boring," he grumbled.

"Everything's boring to you, Sherlock," she said with an eye roll. "And besides, what makes you think getting our own dog will be any more exciting? For the last time, no." She picked back up her pen to continue writing. A few seconds passed, and then Sherlock's small, skinny body collided with hers as he jumped up in the chair to wrap his arms around her shoulders, his blue eyes wide and starry-glazed. She had to admit; he looked so amazingly adorable when he was begging.

"Please, please, please Mummy!" He shook her to make his words seem more real. "I promise, I'll finish all my vegetables and stop playing pranks on the milkman!"

As much as she would've loved to stop getting calls from the milk company about Sherlock's tricks on the innocent milkman and cease the world wars that started every night at the dinner table about the spinach and broccoli that he refused to consume, she knew that it wasn't going to do a thing to change her mind.

"You're supposed to do all of those things already," Linda said tiredly.

"But-"

"Sherlock."

They stared at each other and then Sherlock huffed, quickly released her and stormed out of the room. Mycroft's bedroom door was open and he barreled right in without announcing himself, flopping down on the bed to stare at the wall in fury.

"Told you," Mycroft said lazily from his homework by his desk. He waited for a usual sarcastic quip in response to his words, but nothing came. Turning to look over his shoulder, he saw that Sherlock's face was buried in the pillow, his little body shaking with obvious distress. With a gentle sigh, Mycroft set his pencil down and got up to sit by his brother on the bed.

"Sherlock, it's not the end of the world."

"Is too," The voice in the pillow muttered. "Why do our dumb cousins get a dog and I don't? It's not fair…"

"Life isn't fair, brother dear." He waited for Sherlock to get riled up and snappy, but he just stayed silent. "At any rate, why do you even want a dog?"

"Why DON'T you?"

Mycroft leaned back against the wall to watch the black mop of curly hair bury even deeper into the pillow. To him, the issue of having a pet seemed so trivial in the grand scheme of things. Why invest time and effort into something that can't even talk back to you when there were more pressing things to accomplish? But that's where the brothers differed from one another: while it was hard for Mycroft to identify with the world of emotional goldfish and their everyday issues, Sherlock was still very in touch with the world around him, and had yet to really experience life outside of the four walls of the Holmes house.

As much as he wanted his baby brother to be his complete equal, there was just some things that were going to take him longer to learn. Until then, there wasn't a true reason to kill such an innocent spirit.

"You know," Mycroft started, already sure he was going to regret saying what was on his mind. "Mummy isn't the only parent in this house..."

Almost immediately, Sherlock sat up with an 'I'm-an-idiot-why-didn't-I-think-of-that' expression and scuttled out of the room, going down the hall to stand in front of Chris's study door. Usually, when the door was shut like it was then, it meant that no one was to disturb him, but this was an emergency; Sherlock's happiness was at stake. Reaching to open the door, the handle stayed put at his efforts to make it move. Locked. With a sniff in both annoyance and humor, he went down the hall and into his bedroom to search for the blonde hair pin that he had stolen from his mother's mountainous collection…

* * *

Chris looked up from his paperwork as the door's lock clicked softly. This wouldn't be the first time, he thought to himself, as he set the pen down and waited for Sherlock to reveal himself. With a rush, the door slammed open brutally against the wall and Sherlock came striding in, his chin jutted high as he stopped in front of the desk to stare at his father.

"Well, at least my lock-picking skills didn't go to waste," he muttered dryly, trying his best to hide a grin of pride. "Sherlock, I'm very busy-"

"I want a dog."

They stared at each other.

"A dog," Chris repeated slowly.

"Yes. A dog. A canis lupis familias, a mutt, a puppy, a canine…however you want to say it," he finished with a shrug.

"Uh-huh." Apparently, Sherlock had been reading from the encyclopedias again. "You know your mother doesn't want a dog in this house, right?"

"I know."

"Well." He shrugged. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Change her mind."

"And what makes you think that I can?" Chris asked, making a tent with his fingers, looking extremely interested in the answer to that question. Getting Linda to do anything she was dead set against was like poking at a sleeping bear with a very sharp stick; it just wasn't done. With a sigh, Sherlock walked around the desk to stand directly in front of his father, a look of utter seriousness on his face.

"Please, Daddy?" If there was anything that could make Chris bend his will in all different directions, it was those crystal blue eyes that Linda and the boys all shared, and right then, in that moment, he felt his heart melting as he studied his son's face.

"You've really thought about this, haven't you?"

Sherlock nodded eagerly. For a few seconds, it looked as though Chris wasn't going to answer, but eventually, he sighed. "

Tell you what. I'll talk to Mum and I'll see what I can do for you."

Though Chris could tell that it wasn't exactly the answer that Sherlock was looking for, the little boy smiled all the same. "Thank you, Daddy."

"You're welcome, son." With a smile, Chris watched Sherlock leave his study and put a hand to his mouth in thought. It was very likely that Linda wouldn't change her mind, but if he was going to give it a try, he had to make sure to plant the right words that would stick in her mind...

* * *

Later that night, as they were in their bedroom getting ready for bed, Chris looked up from his book to watch Linda braid her long blonde hair by the mirror.

"So," he started casually. "Sherlock told me that he wants a dog."

She stopped. "Got to you, did he?"

"Well, he did pick the lock of the study to come tell me about it. Lin." He closed the book and set it down. "Don't you think you're being a little too harsh about this? Just because you didn't grow up with pets-"

"You didn't have pets, either."

"Mum was raising five boys; there was no need for a pet with that much craziness around her," he replied with a light chuckle. "But just because we didn't grow up with pets doesn't mean we should deprive Sherlock of the experience." She turned around and walked to the bed.

"I just don't think it's a good idea."

"Why?"

"Sherlock is too young for that responsibility. And I can't even think about how one would turn this house upside down. The messes it'll make." She shivered as she sat down. "No dog. I would rather build him a science lab so he can plot world domination than get him a pet."

"He may be young, but he's much smarter and cleverer than other children his age. We could talk to him about his part to play in taking care of one, give him some guidelines to go by."

"That sounds lovely, but Sherlock can barely stay out of trouble with rules all around him. I highly doubt getting a dog would change that. Besides." She stared at him. "You're forgetting that you're not the one who has to keep this house in order. I am. And I am NOT cleaning up after an animal. That's that. I'm sorry, but the answer is still no." With a shrug, she crawled under the covers and turned her back to him. His gaze drilled into the back of her head.

"You know, part of being a parent is thinking about the happiness of your child."

After a few seconds, she heard him settle down and the room was bathed in darkness as the lamp shut off. "I know you want Sherlock to be happy." his voice said softly. "Just…think about it, okay?"

She didn't answer, but settled deeper into the pillows. Why he even bothered to talk her about it, she hadn't a clue. It wasn't as if she would just magically change her mind because Sherlock finally had Chris get involved.

Their discussion didn't change her mind in the slightest. The answer was still no.


	10. Welcome Home: Chapter Two

**Welcome Home  
**

_**Chapter Two**_

Linda drove slowly through the pouring torrent of rain, the groceries crowding the back seat and her mind on a million different things to do when she got back to the house. As she pulled into the neighborhood, she followed the car in front of her at a snail's pace, and found her mind wandering. It had been a couple of days since she and Chris had talked about getting a dog for Sherlock, and after seeing how depressed he had become after their last confrontation, she was actually starting to give the idea some serious thought. She had to give Sherlock kudos - he picked the right person to advocate for his cause. Chris was a master with his words, expertly trained in the art of planting little nagging thoughts exactly right where they would make the biggest impression of all.

_I know you want Sherlock to be happy..._

Of course she wanted Sherlock to be happy. What good mother in her right mind wouldn't want her child to be happy? But why did he have to ask for a dog of all things-?

Suddenly, the car in front of her slammed on its brakes and blasted the horn, causing her to screech to a brutal stop. Before she could comprehend what had happened, the car raced from around a form in the road and quickly sped off.

"What in the world…" Slowly, she drove up next to the little shape that was crouched and trembling in its spot, obviously terrified at what had just transpired.

Her heart lurched as she saw that it was a small puppy.

It was about the the size of a loaf of bread and had a fur color of what she supposed was deep red. In its fright, it didn't make a move to run away, but stayed stone still. Poor thing, she thought to herself as her foot pressed the gas pedal and she continued to drive. But she found herself growing more and more worried each inch that the car traveled. After a few seconds, she pulled over to the side of the road and parked to watch in the mirror and see if the puppy would make a move to get out of the road. But over a few minutes, it stayed right where it was. What if another car came and didn't see it? What if someone was looking for it? What if it was hurt? Her mind continued despite her best efforts to stop; what if, what if, what if?

_Don't do it, Linda..._

With a sigh, she unbuckled her seat belt and opened the door to get out and walk back, ignoring the chill of the rain as it beat down on her body. The puppy heard her approaching, and looked around, its eyes baring a deeply sad expression.

"Hi there." She leaned down to offer her hand. The puppy ever so slowly uncurled itself from its position and walked to her, sniffing her fingers before gently lapping them with its tongue. "That must've been very scary for you." She said as she stroked her hand over its trembling body. There were no tags, so it was safe to assume that the innocent little animal didn't belong to anyone, at least not around their area. She couldn't just leave it all alone in the downpour...leaning down, she tentatively picked it up and carried it in her arms back to the car where inside, she found a stray blanket and made a bed so the puppy could have a place to sit. It trembled all the way to the house, cuddling as much as it could in the bundle of fabric. As soon as the rain passed, she would take it to the nearest animal shelter and drop it off. Hopefully, a good family would come along and adopt it...

When they were back at the house, Linda unloaded the groceries and against her judgement, brought the puppy inside the house. To her surprise, it didn't run amuck, but followed her very closely as she put different things away all around the kitchen.

"You're very well-behaved, there," she casually observed after all of the goods were put away and she set to work to completely dry it (or he, as she found out while drying between his legs) off of water. He stayed very still against her movements, almost like a little dog soldier.

"You must be hungry." Thankfully, there was still some chicken from dinner the night before, and he seemed to really enjoy her offering, licking the bowl clean of every last bit of meat. Warily, she left the puppy by himself to change and dry herself off, half expecting him to be destroying something when she came back. But to her surprise, he had taken to a small pile of blankets yet to be washed and was sleeping soundly when she returned into the kitchen. Well, at least he'll be quiet until I take him to the shelter, Linda thought to herself as she grabbed her book and took a seat in Chris's armchair in the sitting room. As she read, she felt a small tap of a paw at her arm and looked to see the puppy watching her, a look of longing in his eyes.

"No." She tried to find her place, but the tap came again. "I said no." Another series of taps and a very soft whine accompanied his next inquiry. With a huff, she pursed her lips. "...Just this once."

The puppy climbed up into the empty space next to her thigh, sighing happily as he snuggled close and started to snore. She had to admit...as much as she wasn't keen to having an animal invading her space...it felt kind of nice to have another presence with her as she read. Absentmindedly, she reached to stroke his head lightly, and continued to read, barely noticing that the rain had stopped and she had yet to take him anywhere...

* * *

The puppy's shrill bark snapped her out of the world of the book. Someone was home...the front door opened and with an even louder bark, he took off at dead run around the corner, tripping clumsily with each burst of a sprint.

"What in the world-" Chris's voice cut off as the barking stopped. She could practically feel his utter confusion in the silence that followed. "Uh...Lin?" he called warily. "Did you know there's a dog in the house?"

"I had a faint idea, yes," she answered as her husband walk into the living room, the puppy trailing happily behind him. She had to hold back a smile as he opened and closed his mouth at least twice, looking between her and the puppy curiously. "He was almost ran over, I couldn't just leave him out there in the rain all by himself," she explained simply.

"Uh-huh." Chris slowly took a seat on the couch across from her. "Well...I have to say, I wasn't expecting this."

"I was going to take him to the shelter when the rain cleared up."

"It stopped raining hours ago. Why is he still here?"

Linda didn't reply._ Oh, Fate, you sneaky devil, you, _Chris gleefully thought to himself. He cleared his throat. "You know, he's kind of cute."

"Yeah, he is, isn't he?" He could hear the very faint tone of adoration in her voice, and thankfully, he didn't miss her very brief smile. Linda's mind was open, but it was getting her to make that final jump that would be the most crucial part.

"The shelter will take good care of him; he'll be adopted quickly."

Her brow furrowed at his casual statement.

"We better get him out of here before the boys get home, we wouldn't want Sherlock to get his heart broken."

Her hands formed a prayer position in front of her lips as her eyes stayed glued to the puppy, who was watching her back. Close, but still not enough of a push.

"It's too bad. This little guy would make a great addition to the family." He practically held his breath with anticipation of her answer. After a few long, tense minutes, she lowered her hands and sighed.

"You think Sherlock would like him?" Bingo.

"Why don't we let him decide?" he asked as the front door's lock clicked open...

* * *

Mycroft and Sherlock walked in, expecting to hear the usual silence of the afternoon, but at the sound of a bark, both of them froze.

"Did you just hear-" Mycroft's words were cut off as the puppy came barreling around the corner, knocking over the canister of umbrellas in sheer excitement. Sherlock's jaw dropped.

"Is that-" He couldn't believe it; it was a puppy! He got to his knees and eagerly grabbed the little animal in his arms, burying his nose in the soft red fur.

"Well, that is," Mycroft started, but his words failed him as he watched Sherlock and the puppy instantly bond with one another. It was actually quite…sweet to see. He felt a very slight smile twitch at the corner of his lips. It was nice to see Sherlock so happy after being so depressed about their mother saying no. As if right on cue with his thoughts, Chris and Linda came around the corner and they stopped to watch Sherlock, who was looking at them with wide eyes. Linda couldn't help but beam at her son's bamboozled expression as his jaw flapped open and shut like a fish out of water.

"Do you like him?" Linda asked.

Mycroft couldn't help but be suspicious and quickly deduced his mother's intentions, surprised and somewhat delighted to see her acceptance of the situation at hand.

"I think you should give him a pirate name," Chris chimed in suddenly with a wink. That was the confirmation; the puppy was theirs to keep.

"Redbeard," Sherlock said finally after catching his breath from both the shock and the love lavished on him. "His name's Redbeard."

"Well, then, Redbeard it is," Linda said as she wrapped an arm around Chris's waist, her heart bursting with so much joy as Sherlock put Redbeard down and took off running, the little puppy eagerly jogging and barking after him. With a slight smile, Mycroft set his bag down.

"Mum...you've made him very happy." That was the first real compliment that Linda had received from him in a very long time, and she treasured hearing the words. With a look to her beaming husband and a gentle kiss between them, they followed their sons into the living room...

* * *

After everyone had went to bed, Linda walked down the hall and peeked into Sherlock's room to see him and Redbeard snuggled under the covers together, completely tuckered out after their latest adventure on the high seas. Apparently, her lecture about the puppy sleeping downstairs fell onto deaf ears. With a soft chuckle of both exasperation and humor, she walked into the room and gently took Sherlock's askew pirate hat off his head to set it on the desk.

"Thank you, Mummy," he murmured sleepily, falling back into a deep sleep as she kissed his forehead gently. Redbeard looked up from his position tucked into the little boy's arm and blinked slowly, a look of utter bliss in his tired gaze.

"So you've made your home there now, have you?" She put her hands on her hips to feign annoyance. Redbeard laid his chin on Sherlock's chest, giving her the most adorable begging look. "Well, I suppose I can let this go for one night." Although she had a feeling that it wasn't going to be the last time she would be having that conversation. "You take care of my little boy, now, you hear me?" She pat his head gently. "Welcome home, Redbeard." As the door to the room shut softly, Sherlock turned to pull Redbeard more into his embrace, content to finally have a furry companion to call his own...

* * *

_And thus, with adopting Redbeard, the Holmes family was officially complete and we were all content to be. But...that was the problem. Contentment can be the most dangerous thing to happen to the human psyche; when you're content, you're comfortable. And when you're comfortable, it's easy to forget just how much something or someone means to you. Over the next few years, myself and my family would all become victims of contentment..._

_But an event where we would come close to losing the one person we depended on the most would teach us all a most painful lesson..._


	11. Eclipse: Chapter One

_**Do be warned: this particular story contains content that may be disturbing to some readers. Please proceed with caution.**_

* * *

**Eclipse: **_I'm aware that the term 'eclipse' might remind you of a certain title about vampires, and I hope to alleviate your worries by saying upfront that this isn't about our magical transformation into a family of sparkling mythical beings. However, the term describes this next story perfectly, in that as total darkness covers the land during an eclipse, so our family went through a period of darkness where the light seemed to be lost..._

* * *

_**Chapter One **_

"I didn't do it." Seven-year-old Sherlock shook his head. No, it still didn't sound right. "I DIDN'T do it..." Nope. "I didn't DO it..." Definitely not. "I didn't do IT."

_Well,_ he concluded internally,_ I'll just have to stick with the first variation of the classic plea._

Climbing over the fence to the backyard, he calculated that he had at least seven minutes to get his story together before she came storming to their front door. And already he had wasted three of them with walking home and trying to think of a good way to explain himself to Linda if she was in the kitchen when he walked in. And knowing his stroke of luck, she most certainly would be.

Opening the door slowly, he peaked in to see fourteen-year-old Mycroft with his usual stack of textbooks next to him at the kitchen table, deep in homework, and Linda at the sink, still cleaning the dishes from lunch. Tiptoeing inside, he shut the door ever so softly behind him, and gave his older brother a look that told him to keep his mouth shut. With an eye roll of indifference, Mycroft went back to his homework without making a sound. Slowly...gently...Sherlock moved as slyly as he could to the staircase and smirked in victory when he felt the back of his heel touched the bottom step. One parent down, one parent to go; he spun around-

"Stop right there."

Immediately he froze at the sound of Linda's voice cutting across the room.

"I told you that she has eyes in the back of her head," Mycroft said dryly, not even bothering with stopping his writing. Slowly, Sherlock turned his head to look over his shoulder at Linda, who was watching him suspiciously.

"Where were you?" she asked casually.

"Out."

"Out where?"

"Out there."

"Sherlock." She crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter.

He turned around to completely face her, trying to think of something to say. "It...you know, you look so pretty today, Mummy."

He glowered as Mycroft practically inhaled his textbook with his snort of amusement. On more than one occasion, Sherlock had observed that Chris had gotten himself out of trouble with his wife quite quickly whenever he complimented her appearance. If it worked then, why not now?

"Is that a new dress?" Sherlock continued without skipping a beat. "That blue really highlights your hair-"

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes."

His eyes widened at his full name; Linda never used it to address him unless he was in very deep trouble. "

Don't make me ask you again. Where. Were. You?"

A lengthy pause passed in which he nervously shuffled. Apparently, he didn't have to even try to answer because Linda groaned and rubbed her forehead tiredly. "My God, Sherlock...I swear, if you messed with Mrs. Feeny's garden gnomes again-"

"Can't you leave that cat alone for two seconds?"

"Cat?" Linda repeated in bewilderment. "What cat? What are you talking about?" she asked Mycroft, who regarded her with a look of exasperation and utter boredom.

"Can't you see the white hairs all over his shirt?" The sweet sneer in his voice made Sherlock's eyes narrow to slits. "And the scratches on his arms? Wait." He lightly sniffed the air. "Those aren't cat claw scratches." He studied the angry burning scratches closer. "Those are rose thorn scratches."

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in, but as soon as they did, Linda's jaw dropped as the realization of what he was talking about hit her like a train. Mrs. Feeny didn't have a cat, nor did she have rose bushes...

"Sherlock...Please don't tell me that you-" she trailed off, unable to finish her thought. A very long and tense pause passed as mother and son stared at each other, both of them obviously trying to figure out what to say next.

"It was an experiment."

As soon as the words left Sherlock's mouth, a vicious pounding started on the front door and a woman's voice screeched at an abnormally high pitch on the other side. Redbeard immediately charged from where he was and started to bark furiously at the door, scratching insanely to get to whoever was on the other side.

"Well, Sherlock, I have to say, I'm impressed that you managed to go two days without getting into trouble. That's a world record." Just as Mycroft was about to get a good old-fashioned brotherly insult, Chris came down the stairs and slowed down to a stop, looked wide-eyed toward the door.

"I missed something, haven't I?" he asked, looking between his wife and oldest son. With a groan, Linda pulled Redbeard back to hold him by his collar and opened the door to see their short and plump neighbor, Mrs. Brown, dressed in a shockingly pink nightgown and her hair in large rollers. She was holding her prize winning, Persian cat, King in her arms. To everyone's horror (and Sherlock's boyish delight), his pure white fur was completely dyed with different shades of neon colors, no trace of white on him whatsoever and his green eyes were wide with fright. Mrs. Brown's foot tapped loudly as she regarded Linda with a look of absolute disgust.

"Mrs. Brown-"

"That boy of yours is damned demon from the darkest pit of Hell!"

Mycroft immediately stood to his feet, obviously infuriated that such a thing was said about his brother in front of him, but Chris reached out and held him back by his shoulder.

"First my roses, now King! My God, is there no end to his torture?!"

"I-"

"I knew you and that husband of yours were both trouble when you moved into this house! You and your family are a bunch of freaks!"

Desperately, Linda looked to Chris for help.

"We'll pay for King's grooming-" he started, but Mrs. Brown pointed at him with a gnarly finger.

"You! You're the ringleader of this whole circus!" Her finger moved to Sherlock, who had taken shelter behind his father's leg, more to hide his giggles than out of fright. "I hope you're proud of your little monster!"

Against his will, Chris's hold on Mycroft's shoulder loosened and he stepped forward with a scowl.

"Has your eyesight already failed you, Mrs. Brown?"

Both her and Linda balked at Mycroft's cool words.

"Sherlock is a child, not a monster. He didn't mean to hurt anyone; he was just conducting a harmless experiment…with some obvious consequences."

Mrs. Brown stuttered stupidly, looking between all of the members of the family. As unbelievably annoying as he could be, Sherlock couldn't help but be grateful to Mycroft's motherly, overbearing and almost fierce protective nature over him. It was, quite honestly, a very useful tool at times.

"You Holmes," she finally said. "are nothing but trouble! ALL OF YOU!"

Everyone winced at her piercing screech (all except Redbeard, who was viciously growling) and Mrs. Brown shuffled off, King looking extremely put off at Linda over his owner's shoulder. She slowly shut the door and touched her forehead against it, sighing in both exasperation and rage.

"How in the world did you get King to look like that?"

She spun around to face Chris, who was looking at Sherlock with a trace of awe, and a very, very slight smile on his face.

"It was very simple, actually-"

"Really?" Every man and boy looked at her. "Our neighbor just came to our door and called our son a demon at turning her cat into a living bag of Skittles and all you want to know is how it got that way?!"

"Well, I'm just curious-"

"Chris, does it matter how it happened?! My God-" she cut herself off with a huff and ran a hand through her hair at the sheer craziness of the situation. "Sherlock, I'm taking your Chemistry set away."

"But Mummy-"

"No, I don't want to hear your brilliant reasoning behind this little stunt."

"Mum, he was just-"

"Don't you start, too." She silenced the rest of Mycroft's sentence with a glare that immediately made him retreat. With a look of knowing between them, the boys made a silent joint decision to leave their parents alone, and disappeared up the stairs, bracing themselves for the argument that was about to ensue.

"What?" Linda finally asked after a few seconds of trying to ignore Chris's stare.

"You know, Mike's right, Lin. Sherlock didn't hurt anyone."

She scoffed humorlessly and grabbed the empty milk glass from the table.

"He's just a kid, cut him some slack."

"Of course you would say that." Turning her back to him, she slammed the glass down in the sink, and turned on the pipe. "That's your excuse for everything when it comes to Sherlock and his schemes. Left up to you, he would get away with murder."

"That's not true-"

"No, Chris, it is." She shut off the pipe and turned to face him. "Tell me, when was the last time you even got involved when Sherlock got in trouble? Where were you when I got called to the school because he almost blew up the damn Chemistry lab? Or when I got called to the neighborhood meeting to answer for what he destroyed, what he mangled, what he 'experimented on'? Oh, by the way, the list was as long as my arm and we might as well just sell the house to put a dent in the debt we owe!" she continued ranting, despite his efforts to explain himself. "I just don't understand why I have to be the one to shoulder the responsibility of disciplining our son. Answer me this: even though there are two of us here, why do I feel more and more like a single parent each and every day?"

Chris blinked; how the conversation turned from Sherlock to Linda's frustration with not only the situation, but ultimately him, he didn't know but she obviously expected him to give her an answer.

"I'm sorry you feel like I don't get involved enough when it comes to Sherlock, but you have to remember that I'm the only one working here. I need to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads-"

"Oh, sure, bring your career into this," Linda snapped. "I know your job is demanding-"

"That's putting it lightly-"

"But that doesn't give you an excuse to pull back from your role as the man of this house, my husband, and their father." She pointed toward the stairs. "At the end of the day, Chris, we are still your family and we need you here."

"I can't just neglect my job-"

"I'm not asking you to do that-"

"Then what? What do you want from me, Linda?" He waited for her reply, but she just stared. "I just don't understand why you're so upset. You know you and the boys mean the world to me-"

"Well, you're doing a fantastic job of showing us that. That's why you haven't read a bedtime story to Sherlock in weeks, that you didn't even know that Mike got beaten up by the neighborhood bully a couple of days ago and that you forgot our anniversary for the second year in a row."

He slightly flinched like she had reached out and slapped him. "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm sorry before you let that go?"

She didn't reply, but turned back around to loudly wash the dishes.

"Why are you trying to make it out as though I'm the bad guy here, Linda? Isn't it enough that I go out there and bust my arse week in and week out, working overtime and weekends to make sure we have enough? That I'm the one carrying this familiy financially all by myself? You have no idea how much pressure that is on me."

The dishes slammed together loudly as she moved them all around.

"What do you want me to do next, slay a damn dragon for you?!"

"Try being around more, that would be huge step up from what you're doing now!" Linda spun around. "You can be so incredibly thick-"

"There you go again, attacking me. I don't have to take this from you." He grabbed his car keys from the table.

"Can't handle the truth, can you Chris?" she called to his retreating back. "Fine, walk away. It'll save me a headache." H

His anger blazed into a high flame, and with nostrils flared, he spun around. "You know, Linda, if I'm such a massive thorn in your side, such a headache to you, then why are you even still married to me?"

The words were out before he could stop them and as she stared at him, a look of deep hurt in her eyes, he wished that he could reach out and stuff them back into his mouth, swallowing them so they were never spoken again. "Wait...that...came out wrong-"

"No, it came out exactly as you wanted it to." With those soft, shaky words, she turned back to the sink, her heart thumping painfully against her rib cage as the front door slammed shut and he was gone...

* * *

Up the stairs and around the corner, the boys silently listened as the yelling finally died with Chris's last words.

"...are Mummy and Daddy getting divorced?" Sherlock asked quietly, trying his best to feign being nonchalant.

"No, no, this is just a little disagreement between them." _At least I hope so_, Mycroft finished in his mind. As annoying and sickening as it was to see their parents be romantic in front of them, he would rather see them hugging and kissing than fighting. They had gone through periods in their marriage where they fought more than usual, but this particular spout had been going on for quite a while, and it was very slowly getting worse with each encounter. This was actually the first time that they had gotten that close to the subject of divorce, and Mycroft could tell that everyone was as disturbed as the next person about it.

Other parents got divorced, but the Holmes parents? No, it just didn't seem logical.

"Don't worry." Mycroft tried to sound positive for the sake of his little brother's uncertainty. "They'll make up and be back to their old selves in no times."

Sherlock didn't look so convinced, but got to his feet and slowly walked to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him; a sure sign that he was to be left alone. Mycroft stayed sitting against the wall, somewhat afraid to move and feel the only world that he knew spin out from underneath his feet...

* * *

The next morning, Linda feigned sleeping as Chris got ready for work, her mind racing. Divorce...the word just sounded horrible. Her parent's divorce from when she was eighteen had made a lasting impression on her memory, and though there were certainly times in their marriage where she felt like taking a cast iron skillet to Chris's head, she swore that she would do anything to keep them from putting themselves and their sons through the pain and heartache of such a devastating option.

But...as much as she hated to admit it, she and Chris were quickly becoming more like roommates than husband and wife. Nineteen years of marriage looked great on paper, but behind the scenes, Linda had never felt so alone when next to the one person that she loved more than her own life. Her best friend, the man that she fought tooth and nail to be with for the rest of her life was quickly becoming just another stranger.

She sat up and opened her mouth to say something, anything to him, but the bedroom door closed with a soft snap and she was alone. It crossed her mind very briefly to get up and go after him, but with a final sniffle of defeat, she grabbed his pillow and hugged it close, laying back down to give in to the cry that she so desperately needed...

* * *

Later in the morning, Linda dropped the boys off at school and drove through Cambridge to make to the shops on the other side of town. It wasn't her normal routine to do that, but she was in rush and wanted to get back home and take a nap before getting up to clean up the house and cook dinner so it would be ready in time. And not to mention, she had to find Sherlock's precious chemistry set that he hid from her before he left for school and somehow try to outwit him with her own clever hiding spot. Oh, the things she had to do to keep order in the Holmes household.

As the traffic light she was sitting at turned green, she pulled forward and the sound of an deep, loud horn penetrated the busy air around her. She barely had time to acknowledge the semi truck coming toward her before the sound of shattering glass and crushing metal would stop everything and everyone in its tracks…


	12. Eclipse: Chapter Two

**Eclipse**

_**Chapter Two**_

"Mr. Holmes." Chris's secretary and assistant, Tina, popped her head into the conference room, where he was surrounded by his team of editors and artists, intensely discussing their latest project and its direction. "There's a phone call for you."

"Can you take a message?" He motioned to the people around him.

"I'm sorry, sir, but they say it's urgent."

With a sigh and a glance to everyone's quizzical and curious expressions, Chris got up. "Excuse me." He followed Tina out and down the hall to the children's literature division office and to her desk, where she took the person off hold and handed the phone over.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Mr. Chris Holmes?" a man's voice said over the line.

"Yes, speaking." He tried to sound as though he wasn't greatly annoyed by the interruption of what could be one of the biggest deals with an author the company would ever make, but he was pretty sure that he failed. The voice, however, didn't seem to notice.

"Mr. Holmes, my name is Dr. Filmore, I'm calling from Addenbrooke Hospital about your wife, Linda."

Chris stiffened. "Linda? Is she okay?"

At the sound of Linda's name, Tina's face twisted into puzzlement.

"She was in a car accident this morning on the main road through Cambridge."

Chris gripped the phone with a death grip, the hum of the silence in the room getting louder and louder with each tick of the clock by the main door. Immediately, his mind raced with questions: Linda? His Linda, who was the most careful driver on the planet? How could she get into a car accident? Who hit her? What happened to the other driver?

"Wha-" Chris tried to form a coherent sentence to communicate his thoughts, but all sense of language seemed to leave him. "Sh...how..." He distantly felt Tina touch his arm, a worried expression on her face. "How bad was she injured?" he finally forced out, his throat constricting as he tried to take a breath.

"...she's in a coma, Mr. Holmes," Dr. Filmore answered after an extremely long pause. Chris probably looked as though he was about to pass out because Tina immediately ran around the desk and grabbed a chair to help him sit down, bustling off to get what he assumed was water. "She's in the critical care unit here at the hospital," the doctor continued.

"A coma? She's unconscious?"

"Yes, sir."

"For how long?"

"I can't exactly answer that. Comas can last anywhere from a few days to a few years, depending."

Years? Linda could be in a coma for years? The phone creaked and snapped by his ear from the pressure of being gripped so hard. "Is there any way that you can come to the hospital?"

"Ye…yes."

"I'll explain more to you when you get here."

"All right…thank you, Doctor." He hung up the phone before Dr. Filmore could reply and put a hand to his mouth as Tina came back with a cup of water.

"Is your wife okay?" she asked as she handed him the tiny cup of water, which he took and downed in one gulp.

"She was in a car accident, she's…in a coma." Coma. The word made Chris want to be sick. Tina covered her mouth.

"Sir, I'm so sorry. You need to go to her right now. Don't worry about your team; I'll dismiss them for you and I'll clear your schedule." Immediately, she walked out of the division office, the door shutting with a loud snap.

Slowly, Chris got up to walk to his office and shut the door behind him, leaning back against it to sigh deeply. How he managed to actually stay standing against the crushing weight of reality was a mystery, but with agonizingly slow steps, he walked to his desk and plopped down in his chair, his eyes immediately falling to his favorite picture of Linda from back in the days when they were first married. Dressed in her graduation robe, she proudly beamed at the camera as she held her two degrees, one in mathematics and one in economics. Though there wasn't a confirmation of Chris's worst fear, the doctor's tone with him over the phone didn't help to soothe any of the voices that were starting in on him:

_How could you treat her the way you've been treating her lately?_ One whispered.

_When was the last time you even hugged or kissed her? She's your wife, not some stranger.  
_

_What if she dies-_

He gripped the chair handles, his breathing starting to get erratic. "She isn't going to die."

_Balance of probability…_

"No," Chris said it more forcefully, more to make himself calm down than anything as he felt himself losing his grip on his state of mind. Despair at the situation was quickly turning into anger faster than he could stop it. His office suddenly looked like the enemy; he wanted to break whatever his hands found, rage and scream at whatever deity decided to choose Linda over other people. There was plenty of targets roaming the world; why choose his wife? "Why not me?" He roared to the ceiling, not really caring whoever heard him through the thin walls of the building. In that moment, he would've gladly traded places with her and be the one in a state of limbo. But no. He was painfully aware and awake.

Which, in his mind, was even worse than being in a coma.

* * *

Addenbrookes was unusually quiet when Chris walked into the main lobby and up to the information desk. The lady squeaked directions to the critical care unit on the third floor and numbly, he thanked her and tried to find some composure in the moments that he was alone. What was he going to tell the boys? Was there an easy way to tell children that there was a chance that their mother would…Chris couldn't even finish the thought.

He walked up to the nurse's station and was shown to the waiting room that was thankfully empty, settling down to fill out the clipboard of paperwork. He wasn't looking forward to it, but he had to start making making calls to different family members. In his foggy mindset, Chris could only stand to call Henry and Elijah, and they both made arrangements to come right away with the boys in tow.

As Chris sat in the main waiting area, mindlessly staring at the wall, he heard soft chatter and around the corner came Ginger, Henry, Elijah, Mycroft and Sherlock.

"Daddy." The boys separated from the group and went to stand in front of their father. He gathered as much of himself as he could and smiled gently.

"Hi, boys." None of them replied to his greeting; they were too busy deducing him, desperately trying to see what he knew that he wasn't telling them. A muffin for breakfast, major deadline was coming, barely slept the night before-

"A coma." Though Mycroft's words were soft, they boomed all around the waiting area. "She's in a coma?"

"How did you-" Sherlock started, obviously frustrated that his older brother got to the revelation before him, but Ginger gave them both a look that made them immediately quiet down.

"So no other news yet?" she asked as they all sat down, Sherlock and Mycroft taking seats on either side of Chris.

"No, not yet."

Everyone sat in silence.

"They better have gotten that driver."

"Henry-" Elijah started at his brother's growl of a threat.

"I'm serious. I'll wring their neck myself."

"Dear, please-"

"Hurting the driver won't help Mum," Mycroft said.

"It'll help me," Henry muttered.

"But people wake up from comas, don't they?" Sherlock's voice broke into the conversation.

"Depends on the extent of the damage. And even if they wake up, there's no guarantee they'll be the same-"

"Stop." Chris's broken whisper silenced the boy's conversation and they both looked at him to see that he fighting to hold back tears. Even though no words were exchanged between them, Mycroft and Sherlock were thinking the exact same thing: they weren't used to seeing their father so quiet, so sad and somber. It almost didn't seem logical.

"Daddy, don't worry," Sherlock tried his best to sound encouraging. "Mummy will wake up."

_Balance of probability,_ Chris's inner voice finished, but he kept his mouth shut, more for his sake than everyone else's.

After about an hour, a tall man wearing scrubs and a surgical cap came into the waiting area.

"Are you the Holmes family?" the man asked gently, breaking everyone's concentration.

"Yes," Chris answered, getting to his feet. "I'm Chris, Linda's husband."

"I'm Dr. Filmore, Mr. Holmes. Can we, uh...go and talk privately?"

They both looked to the family, who all were quiet with wide eyes and pale faces at his grave tone.

"Sure." He followed Dr. Filmore into a private family room and shut the door. After a long sigh, the doctor finally spoke.

"First, I'd like to offer my condolences for your loss. We couldn't save both the child and Linda's life."

"Child?" Chris repeated slowly. Dr. Filmore tilted his head.

"I suppose you didn't know...Linda was pregnant."

The news made Chris blink in utter confusion and heartache.

"Pregnant?"

"It was early in, maybe twelve weeks at the most. But unfortunately, the fetus didn't survive the trauma." Dr. Filmore looked so very sorry. Chris sighed and held his head; first, Linda; now, an unborn child. It was all just too much.

"What about Linda?" he finally asked. If anything, he had to focus on the fact that she was still alive...

"She was ejected from the car. It was amazing that she didn't die on impact." A pause. "She has major brain swelling and a fractured skull, which is why she fell into a coma. Her body put itself in the lowest state of consciousness to try to conserve energy to repair the damage." Seemed logical enough, but there was still the question of...

"Will she…can she survive this?"

Dr. Filmore frowned. "Quite honestly, Mr. Holmes…her prognosis isn't good."

No... "

At this rate, with the extent of the damage, it's very possible that Linda will either be severely mentally impaired if she lives, or she'll quietly pass away."

Chris turned his back to the doctor and held a hand to his mouth. No, he heard wrong; why his bloody ears decided to stop working was beyond him, but he DIDN'T hear what he thought he heard.

"I'm very sorry." Dr. Filmore could tell he had struck a very sensitive nerve with the man in front of him. It was always hard to deliver news to families, especially with young children, but medicine could only help so much before Fate stepped in to deliver the final blow...

"Whenever you're ready, she's down the hall, last room on the right," Dr. Filmore said as Chris opened the door to walk out. "If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to contact me."

Chris disappeared from his sight and walked back into the waiting room, where everyone was still in the same stone still positions they were left in. He could fell the boys starting to deduce him, both of them growing more and more pale with each passing microsecond.

"Boys," Elijah suddenly said as he got to his feet. "Let's go get some candy."

"But we-"

"Come."

With a wary glance to Chris, who had sat down with his head in his hands, they quietly got up and followed their uncle out.

"Chris, what's happening?"

He took a minute to gather himself before talking.

"Linda is in bad shape. She fractured her skull and has major brain swelling."

"God." Henry put a closed fist to his mouth.

"That's not all." He swallowed. "We didn't know, but she was pregnant and the baby...fetus, I don't know, didn't survive."

The news made everyone hold their breath.

"Is Linda going to live?"

"Either she will be mentally impaired or…" Chris's stomach churned painfully against the rest of his thought and he shut his mouth, trying his best to keep himself from bolting toward a trash can. He could feel Ginger and Henry staring at him, most likely wondering if there was anything at all that they could say to soothe him. More out of a desire to be alone than to confront the reality of Linda's condition, Chris got up and wordlessly left the waiting room, his brother and sister-in-law reaching out to hold each other's hand...

* * *

She looked like a creature from another planet.

Chris almost turned back around to walk away at the shock, but he forced himself to continue on into Linda's hospital room and to face what he was up against. Tubes and IVs stuck out from every available space around her body, the neck brace and head bandage a stark contrast to her bruised and battered face. Her blonde curls lay spread out all around her, a golden halo against her ashen skin. With an extremely deep breath to steady himself, Chris walked to her bedside and sat down, taking her hand.

"Hi, sweetheart," he said softly. She continued to lay limp, the purple of her bruises looking grotesque in the harsh light of the room. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm here...I'm right here..." He felt so helpless as he watched her sleeping form, so void of the life that he knew and loved. Immediately, he felt horrible, their words from the other morning's argument echoing in his head. And he didn't even apologize to her before they went to bed, content with leaving a gap between them.

How did they go from being such a united front to being strangers?

For the first time since the news came to him, Chris felt his anger back away, and a deep sense of grief took over. The machine's beeps didn't do an ounce of good with disguising his sniffles and sobs as he tried to see her face through the thick veil of tears.

"Lin, you can't die," he pleaded weakly, trying to control his voice as it shook and quaked. "I don't know what I would do if I ever lost you. I can't be a single father."

Single father...Chris felt himself literally start to panic at the thought of raising Mycroft and Sherlock without her. This was not what he signed up for when they got married; he was committed to their marriage and it for the long haul, forever, eternity, infinity.

"I'm so scared, Linda." His voice broke, and he tried his best to compose himself before he completely melted into a pool of mess. But his words ultimately failed him and he leaned to kiss every area of Linda's face that his lips could touch, his incoherent murmurs drowned out by the machine's alerts of life.

"Please don't leave me." The room fell into silence at Chris's last soft plea and he laid his head over her breast to listen to her heart beating weakly beneath his ear. Many times over the years, he had listened to her heartbeat, but never did it sound like music to his ears than right then. It was a melody that told him there was still life within her.

He heard the door open and looked up to see Mycroft and Sherlock standing in the doorway, both of them with sober expressions at the sight before them. As Chris looked at them, the love for them so strong it could've choked him to death, he realized that he had to be strong for them, a pillar of security in the midst of so much uncertainty. It was what Linda would've wanted. He sniffled and dried his eyes as the boys came up to the bedside, Sherlock reaching to touch Linda's hand gently.

"Can she hear us if we talk to her?"

"Well, there is some evidence that comatose patients can hear voices, but the evidence is inconclusive at this point." The encyclopedia of Mycroft's mind always seemed to have an answer, but in that moment, with his mother in her position, he didn't have his expansive mind to fall back on for advice and guidance. All he could do was numbly stand there and watch as she fought for her life, unaware that her family surrounded her.

Sherlock climbed onto the bed and leaned to kiss her bruised cheek. "Mummy, I'm sorry about King."

Both Mycroft and Chris blinked in amazement. Sherlock never apologized for the experiments he conducted, the tricks he played, and to hear him actually admit that he was sorry (and sound genuinely remorseful) was something to be recorded in history.

"I'm sure she forgives you, Sherlock," Mycroft said, a sense of extreme tenderness in his voice. In silence, the three of them stood around her bed and watched her sleep, each feeling just as lost with how to help her as the next. After awhile, the rest of the family came to check on them with an announcement that Ruth would arrive sometime tomorrow to help with looking after the Holmes household and some light chatter was exchanged, more to give off an air of normalcy than in keen interest in what was happening throughout the family. To Chris's surprise, Ginger seemed to catch onto his vibe of wanting to be alone and offered to take the boys with them for the night, which was a very welcomed relief. Sherlock and Mycroft both bullied their aunt and uncle into making sure that they were brought back first thing in the morning, and with one last joint hug and sad glance to their father, they followed the adults out of the room.

Chris was utterly exhausted, physically and emotionally, but at the same time, he knew he probably wasn't going to sleep, no matter how hard he tried. With a sigh, he gently moved up the bed so he could lay next to Linda, extremely careful to avoid the various IVs. It was awkward lying there, and his body protested against the uncomfortable position, but over the last 19 years, she was the last person he saw before he closed his eyes and the first person he saw when he woke up, and he wasn't about to break that pattern even with this sudden turn of events.

"I love you," he whispered after a few minutes as he stroked her arm. "I'm so sorry that I haven't done enough lately to show you that…" With those final words, he laid his head down and let sleep claim him, his dreams tormented with visions of his life without Linda.


	13. Eclipse: Chapter Three

**Eclipse **

_**Chapter Three**_

"Having an affair."

"With the neighbor," Mycroft elaborated, impressed that Sherlock was so quick in picking up that little tidbit about their visitor. Perhaps there was some hope for his skills, after all, as slow as they were developing.

"Neighbor's wife."

Chris chuckled very quietly from his relaxed position in the chair by the beside. Addenbrooke's critical care unit was actually, much to their surprise, a very rich source of practicing deductions. The housekeeper that had come and quietly tided up Linda's room was the target of those casual observations, and the nurse bustling in to check on vital signs and IVs was up next for analysis.

"Diabetic," Mycroft said lazily when she left.

"Addicted to daytime soap operas."

"And romance novels."

Ruth made a noise of exasperation from where she was knitting by the window.

"Oh, stop it, you two," she scolded with a huff. "Honestly, your mother is in a coma, how can you sit there and engage in such nonsense?"

"It's better than what's on the telly. By the way, the maid did it," Mycroft said to Chris, who had turned on the murder mystery program, more for background noise than anything else.

"Obviously," he answered with a nonchalant shrug. "Evident within the first 5 minutes."

Ruth frowned at the exchange between her son and grandson. It almost seemed on the surface that none of them were really concerned about what was happening, and that Chris was playing along with his sons' antics more for their benefit than his. But there was only so much strength within him to uphold a calm exterior, and he was quickly running out of steam.

"Christopher, dear," she said as she reached to touch his arm. "You really should come back to the house at least for a couple of hours. You need some proper rest and a hot meal."

"I'm fine, Mum," he answered tiredly, leaning forward to take Linda's hand and stroke her fingers lovingly.

"When was the last time you ate?"

"This morning."

"Yesterday morning," Mycroft corrected. "It was just a muffin at the office. Cranberry, with a cup of black coffee."

Chris rolled his eyes; now Ruth really wasn't going to leave him alone. "Mum, seriously, I'm okay."

"You need to come home and eat," Ruth repeated. "I'll not have you starving yourself to death. Having one of my children in this place is horrid enough, much less the two of you at the same time." Chris didn't reply; over the years, he had built up the ability to ignore his mother's scolding to the point where he had her on almost semi-permanent mute. "Linda wouldn't want you to act this way, you know."

That, however, wasn't easy to ignore.

"Linda needs me right now," he replied.

"You can stand to be away for a few hours to take care of yourself. You look like hell."

"It's not as though she's awake to care about what I look like, anyway; what does it matter?"

Sherlock fidgeted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable at hearing the bite in Chris's tone, as though he was an inch away from an explosion of annoyance.

"Daddy, it's just for a few hours," Mycroft said simply, using the same neutral tone that he employed when trying to talk some sense into his younger brother. Which he supposed that in this case, was appropriate, as Chris and Sherlock were almost identical in personality. "We're all worried about Mummy, but you need to take of yourself if you're going to be able to take care of her."

Ruth nodded. "Mikey's right, Christopher."

Mycroft winced at the nickname, darting an evil eye to Sherlock who was trying his best to hide a snicker.

"And you know he is, because he's smart."

"But-"

"Christopher William."

"Sp we're using full names now, are we? I am not a child, MOTHER-"

"Oh, for God's sake." Mycroft got to his feet. "Daddy, please just come home. Nana will just continue to be insufferable if you don't."

Ruth spun around and raised a finger. "You listen to me, young man-"

"All right, shut up, both of you." Chris stood up from his chair, his muscles burning and bones cracking and popping from the sudden switch in positions. "I could use a shower, I guess." He leaned to kiss Linda's forehead, tenderly squeezing her hand. "We'll be back later, darling," he whispered in her ear, slowly pulling away from her side to follow Ruth and the boys out of the room, his heart aching with every step he took...

* * *

Back at the house, it was dangerously silent. While Mycroft took to his room to most likely do homework and Ruth bustled all around the house cleaning various things, Sherlock and Redbeard left to engage on an adventure and Chris laid in bed in the master bedroom, holding Linda's pillow close to his chest as he tried to will himself into sleep. But he was failing as he remembered that just the night before, she was in bed with him, perfectly healthy and fine…and pregnant.

With the weight of Linda's fate resting on his conscious, it was actually almost easy to forget about the fact that fatherhood had so tragically escaped his grasp. Even though that there wasn't a chance for Chris to get attached to the fetus that Linda had carried, there was still a longing in him that wanted to know about the life that was not only lost to the family, but to the entire world. Was this Holmes child going to be like Sherlock and Mycroft and share their superior intelligence? Was there was finally going to be a little girl so that he and Linda could experience the best of both worlds, or was it going to be another son? What talents and gifts would set them apart from the boys?

A stray tear fell from his eye and to the pillow beneath his head. How much more can I take before I break, he thought as he felt himself slip away into sleep, the scent of Linda filling his senses and calming the raging storm inside of him...at least for the moment.

* * *

A gentle tap brought him back from the abyss of sleep. Chris groaned and rolled over to groggily look and see Sherlock standing at the bedside, shyly shuffling on his feet.

"Will you read me a story?" he asked softly. Despite his body craving food and more sleep, Chris slowly sat up and took the book that Sherlock held out to read the cover: _The Hobbit._ "You do the funny voices," Sherlock further elaborated with a small unsure smile, which made Chris chuckle.

"All right, come over here."

They walked to the large armchair by the window, and Chris settled down comfortably to let Sherlock climb up into his lap, beginning to read from where they had left off a couple of weeks ago. After a while, Mycroft appeared by the bedroom door, and slowly walked in, briefly smiling at the sight of his little brother and father sitting together, obviously enjoying the adventure of Bilbo Baggins and company. He quietly took a seat on the floor by the chair, letting the sound of Chris's rumbling voice draw him in like a moth to a flame, as only a gifted storyteller's voice could do. Chris briefly smiled in acknowledgement of his presence and continued to read until he stopped to see that the boys were dead asleep.

"Until next time," he said softly as he closed the book, provoking Sherlock to open his eyes.

"No, read more…"

Mycroft stirred from where his head was laying on the footrest and rubbed at his eyes. "I wanna know what happens next…"

"I'll read more tomorrow night." Chris helped his son to stand up and picked him up to carry him out of the room and down the hall, Mycroft groggily following behind them.

"You promise?" Sherlock asked sleepily as he was laid down in his bed, Redbeard immediately jumping up to take his usual position behind him.

"I promise," he whispered as Sherlock fell back into sleep. He left the room to see Mycroft leaning back against the wall.

"I thought you told me that you were too old for story time," Chris teased with a slight smile, remembering how he was politely told that at the tender age of six, Mycroft was officially too old for Chris to continue with reading to him before bedtime.

"I am," Mycroft said with a yawn. "But it was nice to see something familiar in the midst of so much uncertainty." They both fell silent. "Mummy was paler when we were at the hospital today." Chris felt himself recoil at the truth of that very plain statement, void of all traces of emotion. He wished sometimes that he could be like Mycroft; always more prone to looking at the logical side over the emotional side of things. "She's not getting better, is she?"

"Things could always change," Chris replied, hoping he sounded somewhat positive. But at Mycroft's frown, he could tell that he failed and soberly looked to his feet.

"You know, there are some times I wish I wasn't so above everyone else. It seems as though I'm constantly on the outside looking in because I can't...feel things like normal people can. My mother is in the hospital, and I haven't even shed a tear." He sounded almost ashamed to admit the fact out loud. "Everyone around me is always so emotional, I almost wonder if there's something...wrong with me-" he trailed off, looking extremely uncomfortable at the direction the conversation took.

"Mike, just because you're logical and practical about things doesn't mean you don't care," Chris said softly. "We all understand that you're on a different plane of expression, but you love us all just as fiercely as someone that wears their heart on their sleeve." Chris thought about his oldest brother, Rudy, who would rather love his family from a safe distance than be in the midst of them. He and Mycroft could relate on many different levels. "There is NOTHING wrong with you, do you understand me?"

Mycroft nodded once. "Thanks, Dad," he murmured, a slight smile in his voice. Against his better judgement, Chris went and pulled his son into a light hug, not surprised when he slightly stiffened, but tried his best to hug him back.

"I love you, you know."

"You, too."

They separated and Mycroft quickly disappeared into his bedroom, shutting the door with a soft snap.

* * *

Walking downstairs, Chris saw Ruth in his favorite armchair, smiling and sniffling at something that she was reading in her lap.

"What are you reading there?"

It was a minute before she answered.

"If the sky were made of parchment, I could not begin to write of my love for her."

He froze as the first line of one of his poems that he wrote for Linda back in university reached his ears. "If the oceans were made of ink, there wouldn't be enough-"

"Where did you find that?" he interrupted, almost feeling mortified to hear his own mother read such intimidate thoughts from his younger days of being madly in love.

"It was on Linda's desk." Ruth turned a worn page. "Are all of these poems about her?"

"Most of them." Chris had to fight stop himself from reaching out and grabbing the notebook from her hands. He slowly sat down, silent praying that she hadn't read any writings from the very back...

"You know," Ruth said fondly as her face softened. "I remember when you were in secondary school and how discouraged you were when it came to girls. It seemed that every week, you were heartbroken because some girl that had rejected you."

As much as Chris wished he could forget those days, he remembered them all too well. It was almost extreme the lengths that he went to in order to get a girl to like him, and it didn't do an ounce of good for him. He remained without the experience of a relationship all the way until university. In a way, that was a good thing; Fate had arranged it so that only one woman –Linda- would receive his complete devotion and become his first (important) everything.

"But now here you are," Ruth continued, bringing him back to the conversation at hand. "Happily married for almost twenty years, two wonderfully bright sons, and a fulfilling career. You should be proud of yourself, Christopher."

He nodded once, suddenly feeling sick as the guilt of the last few days came back in full force and hit him square in the face.

"I haven't written Linda a poem in years," he suddenly said with a scoff and shake of his head. "She's the love of my life and I can barely stand to spare a moment to write her something special." It was more of an attack on himself than a means of conversation with Ruth. "What kind of man should be proud for practically ignoring his own wife?"

"Dear, don't be too hard on yourself." Ruth set the notebook on the side table and got up to sit by Chris on the couch. "Every marriage goes through a patch where you feel disconnected as a couple. When Linda wakes up," she stressed with a squeeze of his hand. "You can both work to start and repair the damage. But right now…just have hope for the future."

He pursed his lips in a tight line. "Hope doesn't stop her from dying."

"You have to remember something about Linda, Christopher: she's a fighter. After all, she's with you, isn't she?" She smiled. "Don't give up hope." With those last words, Ruth kissed her son's head and got up to walk down the hall to the guest bedroom. Hope…the word slightly stirred in him. Have hope. But how? Hope wasn't physical, something that you could pick up and hold. It was an idea, something anchored in the soul, perched and silent. Hope didn't have a voice…

Words…a voice…

Suddenly, as if someone had slapped him in the side of the head, Chris hopped to his feet and went to Linda's desk, frantically searching through the drawers. She had to have had an empty one somewhere around that she wasn't using. With a cry of triumph, he found a blue notebook hidden at the bottom of the lowest drawer and pulled it out, glad to find it completely bare. Hope may not have a voice, but he could give it one…with his own words.


	14. Eclipse: Chapter Four

**Eclipse**

_**Chapter Four**_

The echo of Chris's footsteps bounced all around the halls of the critical care unit as he strode to Linda's room, the notebook clutched tightly to his side. He peeked in shyly to see a nurse standing by the bedside and taking notes.

"How is she?" he asked as he walked in, hoping to hear good news. The nurse smiled sympathetically.

"No change." Well, it was better than hearing bad news, at any rate. She closed the chart, put it in the cubby at the end of the bed and silently left, shutting the door behind her.

"Hi, sweetheart," he kissed Linda's forehead and walked around the bed to the chair to take a seat, pausing to take a longer look at her. He hoped it was just his imagination, but he could've sworn that she was paler than when he last saw her. "You know," he said softly. "When you're not home, it's like I lose all sense of time. It's 3 am right now; I can only imagine how much you would scold me for still being awake." A slight smile twitched at the corner of his lip. "But it's lonely in our room without you there. I miss holding you while you sleep and hearing your little snores; seeing you brush your hair in the mirror…" His cheeks slightly warmed at the embarrassment of his rambling and he looked to his lap.

"Do you remember our first Valentine's Day together?" Chris wasn't sure why he was even trying to continue to talk to Linda like she could respond, but he desperately wanted to believe that she could hear him. "Gosh, it seems like it was ages ago." He chuckled. "I remember how afraid I was to go on that stage and read my poetry to you. It almost felt like I was naked…in a way, I guess I was." The notebook slightly trembled in his hand. "You know, Lin, I-I really don't know why I'm doing this. You're unconscious, it's very unlikely that you'll even remember this if you wake up. But maybe this is my way of getting out my feelings of what's happened to you, to me…to us." Opening the cover of the notebook, he swallowed and looked down to his scribble, softly clearing his throat.

"Her voice is like a summer rain on dry ground that…" he trailed off, taking a deep breath to try and keep a hold on himself. "That…" _This isn't going to work. What are you even doing_?_ You should be writing a eulogy._ He almost shut the notebook in frustration, but he was willing to do anything, try anything if it brought Linda back to them…back to him. "That waters my soul…" As Chris read on, he found himself overwhelmed in a sense of peace and comfort to the point where he felt relaxed enough to temporarily forget his fears. When he had exhausted his pre-written material, he sat back and wrote more, the words flowing from his pen at lightning speed across the paper. For a moment, it felt as though he was 18 years old all over again and passionately in love. All over again, Linda was his muse…

"Have you been here all night?" Chris looked up to see his brothers and their wives all coming into the room, bearing gifts and flower bouquets. He didn't even realize that it was daytime, he was that deeply engrossed in writing.

"No, I went home for a few hours."

"Mum wouldn't leave you alone, huh?" Elijah teased with a slight smile.

"When has Mum ever left us alone?" Aaron asked drolly, which made everyone chuckle.

"You know, she looks better than yesterday," Henry said as he studied Linda. "She's got some more color in her."

"Yeah, she does," Ginger agreed. "A little pinker than yesterday. Maybe it's because she knows Chris is here with her." Slyly, Chris slid the notebook behind his back. As much as he wanted to tell the family about what he was up to, it just didn't seem right to say anything. The poetry he wrote for Linda was extremely intimate, like a secret shared only between them. So he stayed quiet and lightly visited with the family, hope rising with each line that his mind pestered him to write down...

* * *

As the individual days of Linda being in a coma turned into a week, life carried on somewhat normally around the Holmes house. Chris spent less time in the office and more time at the hospital, using any moment that he and Linda were alone to read more of his writing to her. To his delightful surprise, she was getting better, her neck brace, breathing tube and head bandage completely gone by the start of the next week. Logic told him it was foolish to think that his writing was making a difference in her condition, but he couldn't help but hope that he had a small part to play in her recovery.

He may have been able to hide what he was doing with his poetry from the family, but there was no hiding it from his sons, especially Sherlock. Every day after he came home from school, he composed simple pieces on his violin to play for Linda every time they went to the hospital. His adorable vigor and enthusiasm won him favor all around, especially with the other families in the critical care unit, who constantly asked him to come and play for them.

"Lovely tune there, Sherlock," Linda's nurse praised as she walked into the room to the family's applause one night. "Is that one new?" He nodded eagerly. "Well, you're a very creative little boy. Your parents must be so proud of you."

"Extremely," Chris confirmed with a smile. "I told Linda violin lessons would be good for him."

"No, you didn't, you said that they were for girls," Mycroft said matter-of-factly. "Mummy had to basically bully you into it." The nurse chuckled as she took notes.

"Mummy's moving!" Sherlock's sudden yell made everyone jump. "Look, look!" He pointed to her hand. "I saw it!"

"Comatose patients sometimes move and make noises, Sherlock," Mycroft said patiently, visibly trying not to get too excited. "But it's more a reflex reaction than anything."

"No, look, she's really moving!" Everyone's eyes went to Linda's hand. Sure enough, her fingers were very lightly moving along the blanket, trying to grasp at whatever she was feeling. The nurse quickly took a note.

"I know this is exciting for you, dearie, but your brother's right." She closed the chart. "I'm sorry to say it doesn't exactly mean she's waking up. But don't let that get you down, there's always tomorrow. Chin up, yeah?" Sherlock scowled at her back as she walked out of the room.

"Moron," he grumbled, climbing onto the bed. "I have eyes, too and I know what I saw. Mummy." He lightly shook her arm. "Mummy, wake up." The room hummed with silence in anticipation…but nothing happened.

"Sherlock," Mycroft got up from his chair and went to the bedside. "That isn't going to work. She isn't ready to wake up yet. It was just a reflex reaction." Chris and Ruth looked at each other sadly as Sherlock's face fell.

"But…no," He shook Linda's arm again. "I saw her move, she's waking up. Mummy, you've been asleep for a week. You shouldn't be tired anymore…Mum…" Mycroft reached to touch Sherlock's shoulder, but pulled back, unsure of how to properly comfort his brokenhearted baby brother. To save him from any further embarrassment, Chris got up from his seat and went to the bedside to pick up Sherlock and hugged him tightly.

"There now, it's all right," he cooed softly at the little boy's sniffle. "It's okay." Ruth pawed at her eyes as Mycroft went back to his seat, stone faced, yet with an air of deep sorrow. Chris looked to his abandoned notebook on the chair, determination rising up in him to a high flame to write more and work harder to bring Linda out from her coma. Her recovery wasn't just about him; it was about their sons as well. He didn't care what it was going to take, what he was going to have to sacrifice or give up to do this unbelievable miracle, but he was willing to pay the price.

She was –and always had been- worth the cost.

* * *

"I think she likes it when you do that," the nurse suddenly said as she wrote in Linda's chart one morning. "Read to her, I mean," she elaborated at Chris's curious look. With a sigh, he looked to Linda.

"I used to read her poetry all the time when we were younger. I even wrote some about her, but I stopped doing it after a while."

"Why?" He shrugged.

"Life got in the way, I guess. My job made writing anything outside of something work-related hard to do, so I just...quit." The nurse nodded.

"I see. Well, you know, you can always start again. Romancing a woman, especially your wife, isn't a one time event, it's a lifelong process. You'll have plenty of chances to steal her heart all over again." She paused to let the words sink in. "Keep reading," she finished softly before leaving the room in a silent sweep. Sighing, Chris got up from the chair and walked to the bedside to lie down next to Linda, turning her face so he could gaze at her. As he stroked his finger lightly across the curves of her cheeks, the arch of her eyebrows, the lines of her lips, he started to speak:

"Silently, I watch and wait; like a lighthouse looking for a boat out in the ocean, I'm searching for her; though this land is dark and the night air has settled on my skin, I hold onto the rock of her unfailing love that anchors my soul; and I watch. And I wait; alas, the dark shadows of sorrow burn away as the morning sun begins to rise; my heart leaps as my name rings out from her lips across the way; oh, happy day; I can finally rest in knowing that she is home, safe in my arms where she belongs; My love, my life, my Linda; you're home..." He rested his head on her chest and as his eyes shut in exhaustion, a still small voice whispered the deepest cry of his heart:

_Linda...come home to me..._

* * *

_That feels so good..._

With a sleepy groan, Chris opened his eyes and froze as he felt fingers gently massaging his scalp…the same way that Linda's fingers always did. It briefly crossed his mind not to move, afraid that the comforting feeling would disappear, but slowly, he rose his head from where it lie to see that Linda's eyes were slightly open and looking at him. He blinked furiously, trying to figure out through the fuzzy haze of his mind if he was dreaming or not.

"Lin?" She blinked slowly and her hand moved to touch his nose, lightly tracing her fingertips down his cheek and chin. He stayed stone still, his skin drinking in every brush and touch of her fingertips.

"Chris." His name was barely a whisper, her voice croaky and weak. But with a happy cry, he began to rain kisses all over her face wherever his lips could reach, vaguely aware that he was laughing through his sobs like a complete and utter fool. Linda was just as emotional to see him too; a tear ran from the corner of her eye as he pulled back to stare at her, never so happy to see those beautiful crystal blue eyes.

"I love you," he sniffled through a watery smile.

"Love you." She pushed the words out, smiling sleepily at his shaky laugh. Chris could barely stop himself from kissing her lips and he relished in the feeling of her using every morsel of strength she had to kiss him back. He practically rolled off the bed and stumbled to the door to and down the hall. The entire nursing staff cheered at his news, family members of other patients around them stopping to congratulate and offer their well wishes. At the nurse's order, he went to the family waiting room and called everyone he could think of to spread the news, madly paced in excitement and nervousness when he had run out of numbers to dial.

"Well, I have to say, it's truly a miracle, Mr. Holmes." Chris looked up to see Dr. Filmore coming to him with a huge smile on his face. "Linda is extremely lucky to be alive. And the good news is, she's maintained most of her memory; just a couple of fuzzy spots here and there, but nothing major. She'll need to undergo some physical therapy to help get back some of her basic skills, but I'm thinking that by next week, if she's strong enough, I'll release her to go home." Chris sighed in relief and shook the doctor's hand.

"Thank you, thank you so much."

"You know, Linda is very lucky to have such a supportive and devoted husband like you. I wish you and your family all the best," he said genuinely before turning around to walk back down the hall and through the double doors. With a deep sigh, Chris walked back down the hall to Linda's room to see that she was sitting up in the bed, fighting to keep from falling asleep. He sat down next to her, provoking her to open her eyes and reach out to take his hand.

"I missed you so much," she said softly. He kissed her fingers.

"I was right here almost the whole time."

"It shows. You haven't shaved." He chuckled and felt his short beard. "You'll need to get rid of that, you know."

"What, you don't like the mountain man look?"

"Hmm, I prefer my poets clean shaven," she teased with a wink, drifting off briefly again before forcing herself to wake back up. "How are the boys?"

"Fine, just fine. They're coming here as soon as Mum gets them from school." Linda sleepily smiled.

"Good…" Her eyes shut again and Chris had though she was asleep, but she spoke again after a few seconds. "I heard you reading to me." He blinked.

"You did?"

"Mmm-hmm." She opened her eyes. "I was…going toward a light and I heard a voice talking…I realized after a while that it was your voice. But you weren't talking, you were reciting. It was just like when we first met and you used to read to me in the library after tutoring sessions. But none of what I heard sounded familiar."

"Because it was all poetry that I wrote recently," he replied softly, looking down to their joint hands to pet her fingers with his thumb. "I'm so sorry that I stopped writing for you." He pursed his lips. "I'm sorry about our argument before this whole thing happened, I'm sorry that I've been such a piss poor excuse for a husband and father, I'm sorry that I haven't been the romantic that you fell in love with. I'm just…sorry that I haven't been…good enough for you." For a minute, he was sure that Linda had fallen back asleep, but suddenly, she pulled her hand out of his grasp and grunted with effort to move toward him, biting her lip as stabs of pain radiated through her ribs. He opened his mouth to tell her to stop moving, but she shot him a dark look as she put her hands on his shoulders.

"Chris, you listen to me and you listen well: you are more than good enough for me," she said seriously. "You are everything I want and need, and so much more. We may fight and argue, and we may have our problems that we need to work out, but that doesn't change the fact that you are still the love of my life. I didn't marry you because you could write a good poem, or because you're a hopeless romantic or whatever other rubbish you think I married you for. I married you because I fell in love with YOU. Every single part of you: your past, your present, your future, your weaknesses, your strengths, your secrets, your skeletons – it's all who you are, and Christopher William Holmes, I. Love. You." Chris felt tears burning in his eyes at her loving gaze. "I'm only sorry that I didn't tell you all of this sooner..."

"Over my whole life," he finally whispered when he felt he could speak. "Whatever in the world did I do to deserve you?" She brushed a tear away from his cheek.

"Everything," she answered as she leaned in to kiss him deeply, pulling him to lay down next to her so they could cuddle, their gazes locked on each other's faces.

"I was so afraid that you won't have remembered who I was," he murmured after a few minutes.

"The only thing I don't remember is the accident," she reassured him gently with a smile. But her face fell as a thought came to her mind. "Did you know that I was pregnant?" He nodded. "And that I lost the baby…did the doctor tell you what else happened?" He shook his head, almost afraid to hear the answer. "When I was in surgery, after they took the..." she cleared her throat. "I started to hemorrhage. As much as the surgical team tried to stop the bleeding from my womb, they couldn't, so the surgeon made the decision to just...remove it." She paused to let the words sink in, her eyes filling up tears. "I have no womb. That means that we can't have any more kids." Chris blinked back his own tears at her reaction to hearing herself say it, almost as though she was trying to steel herself against the pain of the truth. With a heartbreaking whine, she curled into his embrace and sobbed.

"Oh, Chris, I'm so sorry," she whispered as she wrapped her arm around him and buried her face into his chest. His mind raced with something, anything to say, but only one phrase came to mind:

"I love you," he said tearfully as he stroked her hair and held her trembling body as close as he could, his shirt becoming more and more damp with her tears. "Linda, we're going to get through this." She clung even tighter to him. "We'll get through this together...I'm here..." They laid in the silence of the room, holding each other with all the strength they had and grieving the loss of what could've been…what should've been.


	15. Eclipse: Chapter Five

**Eclipse**

_**Chapter Five**_

"MUMMY!" Sherlock's joyous yell made Linda jump up from her light doze. He ran at lightning speed into the room and hopped up on the bed, throwing himself on top on her so he could pull her into a bone-crushing hug.

"Hello, sweetie," she cooed tiredly as she wrapped her arms around his skinny body to hug him back.

"I missed you, Mum."

"Oh, I missed you too, darling. So much." Mycroft and Ruth walked into the room, both of their faces lit up with delight at the sight of Linda kissing her son's cheek.

"Did you sleep good?"

"Very well," she answered honestly as Sherlock pulled back to smile at her. "I'm completely rested and ready to come home."

"Thank goodness. The games of 'hide and seek' and tag were getting rather tiresome." Mycroft said dryly, which made Ruth huff.

"It was bonding time."

"And do I know you any better than I knew you before?"

"Well, we know Nana is out of shape," Sherlock piped in as he flopped down a like a puppy next to his mother, snuggling into her embrace.

"I am not out of shape!" Ruth immediately defended.

"Please, you could barely keep up with Sherlock and he's not exactly a cheetah." Linda rolled her eyes at the exchange between her son and mother-in-law; of course, the fighting rages on, even after she wakes up from a week-long coma. While Ruth puffed up in offense, Mycroft walked over the bedside and reached to take Linda's hand. "I'm glad to see you're awake, Mum." She smiled and lightly squeezed his hand. Chris suddenly broke the tender moment as he walked into the room, happily humming with a tray of food in his hands.

"Oh, everyone is here. Good." He set the tray down on the side table. "Macaroni cheese and chocolate ice cream, as requested, for the queen of the hour." He bowed goofily, which made Sherlock giggle and Mycroft scoff in light amusement. Their father was back to his old self again.

"Thank you, darling."

"So, when are you coming home?" Ruth asked.

"They want me to do some sessions of physical therapy first, and if they see that I'll be all right, they'll let me do outpatient so I can be home. I hope Redbeard wasn't too much trouble for you, Ruth; he can be quite a handful."

"Oh, please." Ruth waved her hand. "I raised 5 boys by myself, a dog is nothing to be concerned about. He was just fine, and so was Sherlock. Didn't cause any trouble with the neighbors."

"Really?" Linda eyed the little boy cradled in her arm suspiciously. "Well, that's nice to hear, I guess…" But knowing his ornery nature, it was only a matter of time before she was back home and the wars with the neighbors would start again. "By the way, whatever happened to King?" Mycroft blinked.

"You wake up from a week long coma and one of the first things you want to know is what happened to the cat? Well, at least we know that your memory is still intact, but still…"

"He got shaved," Chris chimed in as he wrote in his notebook again. "And he'll no longer be competing in cat shows, as far as I know."

"And Mrs. Brown told me if I ever come on her property again, she'll hang me upside down by my toenails." Sherlock sounded more bored at the threat than worried, and everyone in the room engaged in a joint eye roll at his indifference. "She even started a petition to ban me from roaming outside on weekends. She's already gotten three signatures."

"Four," Mycroft corrected. "Mr. Lionel signed it after she reminded him of what you did to his tulips." Ruth shook her head in pity.

"Welcome back, Linda, dear." Despite her best efforts to remain serious, her face broke out into a smile and she hugged Sherlock close again and planted a kiss on the top of his head.

Yes, welcome back, she thought to herself with a sigh.

* * *

_(One week later…)_

Redbeard was waiting expectantly by the door as the Holmes family walked in, looking eagerly around the group for a certain face that he hadn't seen in a week's time. As his eyes met Linda's, he whined and fought to make his way to her, his tail beating furiously against different people's legs.

"Hello, Redbeard," Linda said happily as he managed to push through everyone and tackled her against the wall to stand up and lick her face. Instead of her usual disgusted cry at his show of affection, she giggled as his tongue swept all over her face. "Yes, I missed you too, honey."

"All right, down, boy." Chris grabbed his collar and pulled him back. "Sherlock, take him outside, would you?" Mycroft immediately made his way over as Sherlock dragged Redbeard to the back door.

"He didn't hurt your stitches, did he?"

"No, I'm fine," Linda assured him gently with a look into the living room. "Oh, did I miss this place." She walked all around the homely room, looking to the piles of books overflowing Chris's bookshelf; the stacks of dusty old tomes that belonged to Mycroft spread all around the large armchair (probably written in a dead language that he was casually learning on the side) and Sherlock's table where his microscope and various chemicals were spread out.

"Mummy, wait, there's something I need to tell you-" But Sherlock's words came too late; Linda was staring up at the large green stain on the ceiling, already trying to figure out if she should be pissed that it was there in the first place, or happy because she was alive to even scold him.

"You know what, I'll let this one go," she finally said to her youngest, who was looking as though he was braced for her yelling. "But the next time you do that, I promise you, you'll be grounded until you leave for university." Mycroft and Chris glanced at each other, a light smile on both of their faces.

"Yes, Mummy," Sherlock muttered to his feet, smiling at her threat despite himself. Indeed, it was good to have her home.

* * *

Mycroft watched from the bay window inside the kitchen as Chris and Linda stood before the makeshift grave of the unborn child and held each other, their poses of sorrowful mourning. They hadn't explicitly said what happened in their explanation as to why Linda wouldn't be having any more children, but they didn't need to; in fact, he actually preferred that they chose not to say. In all of his life, Mycroft had never seen his parents in such a position where they both seemed so sad, but in their joint grief, he could see that a stronger bond was starting to form. It was refreshing and in a strange way, comforting to see them on the same side again, despite the circumstances that brought it about.

The characteristic shuffle of Sherlock's footsteps came to the window and he sat down.

"Mummy and Daddy are really sad about losing the baby." It wasn't really a statement of the obvious, but more of a statement of his observation.

"Yes, they are."

"But it wasn't really a baby. Not yet, at least. It was a fetus." Sherlock paused, unsure of how best to continue his train of thought. "Why are they so upset?" he finally asked.

"You know," Mycroft murmured thoughtfully after a minute. "I don't think they're upset about losing a baby, per say. I think they're more mourning the loss of a unique, individual life. The life that they had created together. They feel that it wasn't fair that things ended the way they did…but the East Wind takes us all in the end, Sherlock." He paused. "I suppose some get taken earlier than others." Sherlock stayed silent, closely watching his parents as they released each other and joined hands.

"Will Mummy ever go back to being herself again?" Mycroft felt something deep inside of him stir at the sound of longing in his little brother's tone. So he had noticed Linda's slight change in personality over the last few days…

"Honestly, brother dear…no, I don't think Mummy will ever be the same again. But that's the problem with living life; you will never stay the same, no matter how hard you try. Something will always happen in order to make you change and grow…or backtrack." He looked up to the grey skies outside. "Just remember something as you grow up, Sherlock: caring is not an advantage…though sometimes it's unavoidable..."

* * *

Outside, Chris and Linda wiped at their eyes, trying to compose themselves before they had to go back inside.

"What would we have named them?" She shook her head at the question.

"I didn't have a name in mind."

"I doubt that." He tried to sound more light hearted, but his voice fell again as he looked to the pile of stones. It took a few minutes for Linda to find the courage to answer the question, ignoring the pang in her chest as she opened her mouth.

"Sherrinford…if they were a boy. Sherrinford Oliver Holmes." Chris felt his lip twitch into a slight smile; yet another odd name to match their other son's names.

"Why Sherrinford?"

"I read in a book years ago that it means 'cherished', though I don't know if that's true…and Oliver after an olive tree, which symbolizes peace…" She sniffled. "I don't have a name for a girl; to be honest, I was pretty sure that I would never have one, so I stopped trying to think of names a long time ago." She felt his arm encircle her waist and draw her into his embrace and they silently said their final goodbyes to the third Holmes child…the third Holmes brother.

* * *

_I wish I could say that life went back to normal after Linda's accident, but of course, life is rarely ever so easy. Over the next 2 years, as she underwent physical therapy and counseling for her post traumatic stress disorder, I began to understand for the first time what the vow "for better or for worse" really meant. There were times where I wasn't sure I would be able to handle all of the emotional changes that she went through, all the sleepless nights from her hair-raising nightmares, and the distance that she would purposefully put between herself and everyone that she loved._

_But despite her tough recovery, Linda did her best to continue and try to be a good mother to our sons. I know there were times where she felt horribly inadequate, but her role in Mycroft's life would soon change as he started the search for a university to attend. What was interesting about this milestone was not our reaction to his leaving the nest, but Sherlock's reaction…_


	16. Sparrow: Chapter One

**Sparrow**:_ Of course it was inevitable that Mycroft would be the first one to spread his wings and leave the nest of our home to take his place in the world. And we as a family couldn't have been prouder of him. He was accepted into some of the best universities in the world but chose to say in his native homeland of England and study political science. Although it was difficult for Linda and me to see him leave, the nest wasn't completely empty; we still had Sherlock..._

* * *

_**Chapter One**_

"Sherlock's been avoiding me." Seventeen-year-old Mycroft's very simple statement broke the silence of the kitchen and Linda turned around from the stove to see him staring into the distance outside, a look of extremely deep thought on his face. "He hasn't spoken to me in two days. He makes sure to stay gone or in his room with the door shut while I'm home, and plus, there's the extremely interesting fact that he hasn't gone out of his way to get on my nerves." If anything, Mycroft sounded a tad bit…hurt at his own observations. Linda scoffed.

"Are you saying you like actually getting pestered by Sherlock?" She looked to the stitches above his eyebrow; the result of the latest practical joke in the bathroom. Mycroft must've noticed where she was looking, because he reached and lightly touched the wound.

"I'm saying he's not acting normal," he corrected, lowering his hand. "You might want to take him to the doctor tomorrow; he could be ill." Linda smiled at his genuine, but misplaced concern.

"Or he could be having a hard time with accepting the fact that you're leaving for university in three days." She heard him laugh lightly in amusement at the absolutely ridiculous notion. "I'm serious, Mike." She set the spoon down on the counter and sat down across from him at the table. "Call me obvious, but it's not a coincidence that he's acting this way a couple of days before you go off."

"Mum, don't be silly." Now Mycroft sounded as though he was talking to a small child. "You know as well as I do that he's glad I'm going away." Linda crossed her arms. As brilliant as her eldest son was, sometimes he could be so blind to human emotions, especially when it came to Sherlock.

"I know my boys," Linda said with a shrug. "And I'm telling you, Sherlock is having a hard time with saying goodbye to you."

"But it's not really 'goodbye'…it's more along the lines of 'see you at Christmas and summer holiday'. I'm coming back."

"That's not how he sees it, though; all he sees is that his big brother is leaving him behind." Mycroft opened his mouth to reply, but the back door slammed open and ten-year-old Sherlock calmly walked in, stopping to see that his mother and brother were watching him.

"Hi, sweetheart," Linda said cheerfully. "Was your experiment a success?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and slid to Mycroft. "Itwentfine," he muttered quickly, turning around and dashing up the stairs before anyone could say anything else. As the bedroom door slammed upstairs, Linda gave Mycroft a knowing look and got up to go back to chopping potatoes.

Sherlock isn't going to miss me, Mycroft thought to himself as he sat back with his hands to his mouth in thought. But as his eyes slid back toward the stairs, the sound of the slammed bedroom door echoing in his head, he had to admit, he wasn't so sure anymore…

* * *

Another day would pass before Mycroft would get the nerve together to face whether or not Linda was right. He stood at the doorway of Sherlock's room and silently watched him studying something through the lenses of his microscope. This is ridiculous, he thought to himself. Just go in there and talk to him. How hard is that?

"Hi." Sherlock slightly stiffened at the very informal greeting.

"What do you want?" Usually so composed and in control of his feelings, Mycroft wasn't prepared for the slight prick of hurt at his little brother's cold tone toward him. He almost wondered if it was just best to walk away and leave him alone…but he couldn't will himself to move away and instead stayed rooted to the spot on which he stood.

"I came to see what you're up to." Sherlock didn't answer, and froze as he heard Mycroft walk into the bedroom and sit on the bed behind him. A couple of extremely tense minutes passed, and then Mycroft cleared his throat. "What are you looking at?"

"The remains of a toad," Sherlock replied as he adjusted the focus. "It exploded."

"Exploded?" Mycroft repeated, hoping he sounded at least somewhat interested; the answer as to why was so painfully obvious. "Well, that's…so…interesting." At Sherlock's huff, he could tell that he failed miserably in acting out his fascination and promptly sighed. "Crows are all around this area," he continued, now letting his boredom completely show. "And a delicacy of their diet is toad liver. The toad, obviously distressed at being attacked over and over again, swelled up to defend itself and in the process, ruptured its own blood vessels, lungs and intestines. And it all leaked out through a hole where the liver was taken out."

"Elementary," his little brother concluded quietly, still not moving from his position at the microscope. "Anything other observations that you care to bore me with?" The room fell silent and Mycroft shuffled his feet.

"Mummy's under the impression that you're feeling upset with the fact that I'm going away to university." No response. "I'm sure you'll agree that the thought is just ridiculous, but you know her; always concerned with such trivial matters of life. If anything, you're delighted at my going away." There, he thought to himself. Now's it out, he can laugh about it and we can all move on.

"You're right that I'm glad." Sherlock sounded just as excited as if he was being told that he was getting a root canal. "At least it'll be quiet around here until then. And they'll be more cookies in the jar." Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"You can at least do me the immense favor of insulting me about something other than my weight. So, is it true? Are you upset that I'm leaving?"

"What do you care if I am or not?" The silence that followed was so tense, a chainsaw wouldn't have been able to put a dent in it.

"Sherlock," Mycroft began uncertainly, almost unsure if he should keep talking or not. "This is what people at my stage of life do. Someday, you'll be where I am and I'll be happy for you." Sherlock made a soft noise of disbelief.

"You, happy for me? That'll be the day."

"I will be," Mycroft stressed. "You can at least act like you're happy that I'm finally getting my life started, or is that asking too much of you?"

"You've always delighted in causing me pain, so I suppose that request is reasonable." Finally, Sherlock looked up from the microscope and turned around in his chair to face his brother. "I'm so happy for you." The emotion in his voice had as much life as a dead fish. "I don't know if I can even contain my excitement."

"Fine, Sherlock. Be that way," Mycroft snapped as he got to his feet and started to walk away. But at the door, he stopped and turned back around. "And by the way, to be quite honest, you're not the only one that will appreciate my absence. If anything, it'll be nice to get away from you for a while. You and your ridiculous experiments, your stupid pirate adventures, your incessant whining about how your life is just so boring. You can be so stupid-"

"Get out." Sherlock's whisper of a command made Mycroft stop midway through his rant and pause, his face dawning with a realization of what he said. More out of habit than genuine concern, he read Sherlock's face and found something…familiar, yet…foreign...

Was that...

Yes, it was. Hurt. He had hurt his little brother's feelings.

"Wait…Sherlock, I didn't mean-" he began.

"GET OUT NOW!" A book flew toward Mycroft's head and he narrowly dodged it. "I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU! I HOPE YOU GO AWAY AND NEVER COME BACK!"

"Hey, hey, hey, knock it off-" Chris suddenly appeared by the door and was shocked to see Sherlock standing and panting like a raging bull, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "What's going on here?" He asked Mycroft, whose eyes were fixed on Sherlock's glare.

"It's nothing, Sherlock's just being-"

"GET! OUT!" Everyone's ears rang at Sherlock's sudden shout to stop them from talking.

"Sherlock, take it easy, now" Chris said gently, pushing Mycroft aside with a pointed look to leave them alone. "All right, take a deep breath-" The bedroom door closed and Mycroft stood dumbly staring at it, his ears still humming from Sherlock's scream. Go away. Two completely ordinary words, so simple in their definitions; yet when put together, they seemed so…so…

Hurtful.

Slowly, the older Holmes brother turned around and walked to his room, feeling as though he had been forced to swallow a pile of rocks and thrown into a pool to drown…

* * *

"He's an unbearable git," Sherlock grumbled to the wall as Chris sat in the chair by the microscope and watched him lazily. It had taken a while to calm the little boy down from his tantrum, and after some coaxing, he had taken to huddling in the fetal position with his back to his father. He is truly my son, Chris thought to himself wryly.

"You know, Sherlock," he said casually. "It's okay to miss Mike when he goes away to university."

The statement made Sherlock tense. "I won't miss him." He sounded extremely offended. "Why the hell would I miss him? He's been nothing but a pain in my backside all of my life-!"

"Watch your mouth," Chris calmly interrupted as he leaned back and positioned his fingers in a lazy tent position in front of his chest. "And has he really been that much of a pain to you? Really?"

"And somehow, you are my father." Chris rolled his eyes and chose to ignore the jab. "You know, you think you're so smart. Obviously you're not brilliant enough to see how much of a nuisance he is. You know what he calls you and Mum? Goldfish. Stupid, ordinary goldfish."

"We've been upgraded to 'goldfish' status?" Sherlock rolled over and blinked; Chris, to his complete shock, actually sounded quite impressed. "Well, I have to say, I'll take being in a fish bowl over being a slug on the ground. At any rate, son, back to the original point: it's okay to admit that you'll miss him." Sherlock flopped back on the bed and rolled into his usual fetal position. "Did I ever tell you what your first word was?"

"My first word?" Sherlock repeated flatly, not even bothering to try to turn around.

"Mhm. I remember it like it was yesterday-"

"Of course you do." Having a writer for a father had its drawbacks, at times. Everything for Chris was like one long, boring narrative. What did Sherlock's first word have to do with Mycroft going away to university, anyway?

"You were about…oh, eight months old or so when it happened. Mike had come back from school one day and when you saw him walk in, you screamed out," Chris's voice went insanely high. "'Mycoff!'. Needless to say," he went back to his normal voice. "Your mum was a tad bit disappointed; she was hoping you would say 'mama' first." Slowly, Sherlock rolled around and faced his father, a look of very mild surprise on his face.

"Mycroft's name was…my first word?"

"Yes, it was. I may be a moron in life, but I will tell you this: I'm a little brother, like you, and I don't have a bond with ANY of your uncles like you have with Mike." Sherlock blinked. "I know that he gets on your nerves and he makes you want to just jump off a bridge sometimes, but it's okay to be sad that he's going off to university." Sherlock sat up and looked to his lap, fiddling his fingers as he thought about how best to respond to this notion of being sad and missing Mycroft.

Why in the world should he even miss him in the first place? Mycroft was a rubbish big brother; always trying to scare him with the story of the East Wind, taking apart his experiments, belittling and berating him on constant basis, showing his superior wit to anyone that cared to listen. He didn't deserve to be missed.

But at the same time, Mycroft was…not too bad of a big brother, either. When Sherlock was younger and scared of thunderstorms, he was always allowed to sleep in Mycroft's room. And whenever Redbeard ran away a couple of months ago, Mycroft was the one that helped him search high and low for him and he could barely tolerate Redbeard in the first place. And there was no one that Sherlock could really talk to that was on his level of intellect; Mycroft, although smarter, was also his equal.

He may have been horrendous at times to get along with, but he was still Big Brother…and life wouldn't be the same without him around.

"Promise you won't tell him?" Sherlock finally asked after a few seconds. Chris smiled and stood to his feet.

"Scout's honor." With one last playful ruffle of his hair, Sherlock was left alone to his thoughts, the reality of his big brother leaving home finally sinking in for good.


	17. Sparrow: Chapter Two

**Sparrow**

_**Chapter Two**_

"This feud between you and your brother is simply childish." Linda slammed the pan down on the stove, making Chris and Mycroft wince from the sound of the clatter. "Absolutely and completely childish," she stressed. It seemed that after Linda's car accident, she became more sensitive to whenever her sons had disagreements; maybe that's why they had conceded to just trying to avoid each other as much as possible over the years. They didn't want to upset Mummy with their petty fights.

"Lin, calm down-" Chris started gently.

"Don't you tell me to calm down." The men immediately tensed at her snarl. "My baby is up there suffering in silence and you have the _nerve _to tell me to calm down? Ah!" She held up a finger to stop Chris from replying. "Not another word." Immediately, her husband held his silence, going back to his newspaper.

"Mum, he threw a book at me-" Mycroft started.

"I would throw a book at you, too, if you called me 'stupid'," she snapped. "Might knock some sense into you." Why he even bothered to try and talk to her while she was ranting and raving was beyond him. "Whatever happened to you two? You used to be so close."

"Sherlock started talking," he answered drolly, and Linda shot him a sharp stare.

"I'm serious, Mycroft." He slightly tensed at the use of his proper name. "You and him used to be like two peas in a pod, and now, all of a sudden, you can't stand each other." Mycroft scoffed.

"Are you really suggesting that we just suddenly decided that we weren't going to get along? You obviously haven't been paying much attention to how things have gone in this house since your accident."

"Mike," Chris warned, looking up from his newspaper. "Don't go there." It was hard enough living with the memories of what happened to Linda and the family, much less bringing it up in the heat of an argument. With an eye roll, Mycroft got up from his chair and stormed up the stairs, practically ready to explode from all of the anger and frustration churning inside of him. Somehow, in his haze of annoyance, he missed seeing Sherlock and bumped hard into him.

"Watch where you're going," Sherlock snapped.

"I could say the same to you," Mycroft muttered, brushing his shirt off with a distasteful sneer. With more effort than what was probably needed, Sherlock pushed his older brother aside to return to his room and brutally slammed the door, the echo of the sharp sound making his ears pop.

"Good riddance to you, too," he called to the door before going into his own room and slamming the door equally as hard.

* * *

The day had finally arrived; Mycroft was leaving for university.

"All ready to go," Chris said cheerfully to Linda and Mycroft as he shut the trunk to the car. "Can't believe my oldest son is going to university," he continued. "Where did the time go? Seems like only yesterday you were starting primary school, and now here we are." Mycroft rolled his eyes at the sickening sentiment in his father's tone.

"All right, darling, I think that's enough reminiscing," Linda teased at Chris's sheepish smile. She looked to Mycroft, who was looking back at the front door silently.

"Have you seen Sherlock?" He asked in what he hoped was a casual tone.

"Not since this morning," she answered slowly with a look to her husband, who shrugged shortly. With a soft noise, Mycroft turned to start walking toward the car. Maybe it was best that they didn't say goodbye to each other; too many old scores, too much history between them. It was just best to leave things on silent terms.

"Hi, darling." Linda's cheerful greeting made him stop and turn his head to look over his shoulder. From around the corner, Sherlock came walking with Redbeard faithfully trotting alongside him. To everyone's mild surprise, he was completely covered in mud and grass, his pirate hat flopping carelessly on the side of his head. He stood tall and looked bravely at his older brother for the first time in two days.

"Hello, Sherlock," Mycroft said simply, hoping his face was entirely neutral. Linda shot Chris a look and nodded her head to the side of the house. With a whistle to call Redbeard, the parents silently tip-toed away to leave their sons alone. An uncomfortable silence passed between them.

"You're leaving," Sherlock finally said after a few seconds. Mycroft nodded. "But you'll be back at Christmas."

"And summer holiday."

"Christmas is a long time away."

"It's just a few months."

"Seventy days," Sherlock muttered, looking quickly to his feet, which made Mycroft pause.

"Yes, I suppose that is a long time. I almost worry about how much you're going to grow while I'm gone." Sherlock's head snapped up.

"You do?" He looked extremely surprised.

"By the time I come back, you'll most likely taller and your voice might start changing. You won't be so little anymore."

"What do you mean by that?" Sherlock asked, now looking extremely puzzled.

"You're quickly growing up, Sherlock," Mycroft replied, a hint -just a hint- of sadness in his tone. "Sooner than I expect, you'll be an young man and you won't need me to be a big brother to you anymore." He could feel his heart slightly breaking at the revelation of his own statement; Mycroft's role in Sherlock's life was about to undergo a change and he wasn't the slightest bit ready for it. A part of him longed for the days when Sherlock was a baby and toddler, for the days where there was no one else but them; the Holmes brothers, the dynamic duo.

But with both of them growing up, those days were officially over.

Mycroft was about to turn around and walk away, somewhat content to leave things were they were, but suddenly, he was seized around the waist in a tight hug. He looked down to see the curly black mop of Sherlock's hair staring back at him.

"I'll always need my big brother," Sherlock said softly as he tightened his grip. Not knowing exactly how to respond to this outburst of uncharacteristic affection, Mycroft very slowly wrapped his arms around the thin body of his little brother. To his immense relief and slight disappointment, the hug ended as suddenly as it happened and Sherlock put distance between them again.

"All right there, boys?" Linda called as she and Chris strode back toward them, Redbeard following close behind. With a look to each other, Mycroft nodded.

"Everything's fine," he answered coolly.

"Good." Linda's eyes sparkled with happiness. "Well, I guess you two should get going now, you've got a long trip ahead of you." She walked up to Mycroft and pulled him into a hug, which he awkwardly tried to return. "I'll miss you so much, dear," she sniffled.

"Mum, please don't cry; you know I can't handle your incessant blubbering," Mycroft said in exasperation, which made his little brother and father chuckle.

"Stop it, you," she scolded, pulling back to tenderly touch his cheek. "It isn't easy saying goodbye to my oldest baby."

"I'll be back…in seventy days," he finished with a look to Sherlock, who beamed. Linda gently pat her son's shoulder and watched as he walked away from her. "I'm ready; let's go." He and Chris climbed in the car and pulled out of the driveway, the purr of the engine dying as they traveled down the road and away from the house. The sobering silence of the countryside pressed on Linda and Sherlock's eardrums. With a quick wipe at her teary eyes, she sighed deeply.

"This house won't be the same without him."

No, Sherlock thought to himself. It certainly won't be.

* * *

_I daresay that my life as the father of the Holmes boys became much more interesting after Mycroft left for university. As you'll see with the coming tales, Fate would start to test their strengths and weaknesses, and would ultimately shape and mold them into the men that the world would know them to be..._

* * *

_**Two years later…**_

"What about him?" Sherlock nodded toward the tall man striding down the sidewalk a little ways away from where he and his cousin, Wendy, were sitting on a park bench and enjoying ice cream cones. She squint her eyes and studied the man as he proudly waved around to a group of people that had addressed him.

"A position of importance," she said slowly. "Maybe with the law, judging by his suit and shoes." Sherlock nodded.

"What else?" She shook her head, her short blonde curls bouncing.

"He's not a lawyer; I think he's a policeman. He carries himself like one would. But I don't have anything else," she said with a shrug. With each opportunity that Sherlock gave Wendy to make deductions, she was getting slightly better. It was easy to train her; she was the least irritating of all of his cousins and (supposedly) the smartest of them right behind him and Mycroft. Maybe she could be his successor one day…no, he thought to himself with a chuckle. There's only one Sherlock Holmes.

"He's a detective," Sherlock said. "Detective Joseph Grant, to be exact." He practically spat out the name like it was poison.

"All right, I know you didn't get that from just looking at him," Wendy said flatly, fixing her deep green eyes on her cousin, who looked very thoughtfully into the distance.

"Did you hear about Carl Powers?" He finally asked after a few seconds.

"Read about it in the papers, I think. He drowned, didn't he?"

"During the swim meet on Saturday." Sherlock could've practically –no, fully- recited the article in which he read the news; he had poured over it so many times looking for the missing link. "The police don't know how it happened or what killed him. There's something off about that whole scene, something they don't want to look into."

"What's that?" Now Wendy sounded intrigued.

"His shoes."

"His what?"

"Shoes," Sherlock repeated. "There were no shoes at the crime scene."

"Do I even want to ask how you knew that in the first place?" A very sly smile spread across Sherlock's face. "You know, Aunt Linda would kill you if she found out you broke into a crime scene."

"I didn't 'break in'." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Barricades can easily be jumped. At any rate, I tried to get the Detective Inspector and Detective Grant to investigate it, but they brushed me off." He bristled at the memory of DI White heartily laughing at what he called was the 'utter rubbish logic' behind Sherlock's words and being escorted and promptly banned from the scene. "I have more sense than all of those idiots combined," he muttered darkly.

"Of course, you do," Wendy agreed with a nod. "But not everyone sees it that way, Sherl." He winced at the childhood nickname. "Who knows, maybe one day you'll be able to solve the case." He shook his head.

"I highly doubt that." With a last gulp of their ice cream cones, he and Wendy started the walk back home, the mystery of Carl Power's shoes haunting his mind with each step he took...

* * *

**Next story in the series: 'Origins'**


End file.
